Case Red
by Insanity's Servant
Summary: When Black Widow and Hawkeye fight, things don't go entirely to plan. Natasha turns to Loki to seek revenge, and ends up falling prey to the demigod's own agenda. Escape from her feelings, and her past, has never been so hard. Rated T for violence. Co-written with Alassiel.
1. Unexpected Liberation

None of this was right. Nothing. With a grunt, I swung down from the beam. My feet collided with Barton's chest. He lurched backwards, blue eyes wide. But they weren't his own. Barton's eyes were hollow and empty; there was none of the fire that I had grown to- I had to admit it- love. It was wrong. This was wrong. We were going to kill each other.

Dropping down onto the catwalk, I threw a fist at his face. He dodged it easily and swung his bow towards my head. Quickly, I grabbed it and flung myself into a backflip, intending to drag Barton with me.

But he had seen that trick before. We had fought together so many times, and in so many different places. He may not be himself, but Barton still knew me. Barton, with amazing reflexes, simply let go of his bow. My momentum carried me into an awkward backwards somersault and sent me skidding across the catwalk. I scrambled to my feet, muscles clenched in anticipation of a blow, but none came.

Barton had vanished.

Unleashing a mental stream of abuse against the god who had turned my partner against me, I backed out of sight.

How could Phil have sounded so calm, so businesslike? _Barton's been compromised._ I shuddered. Fury acted like nothing had happened, but those words seemed to rip my heart out. Barton had always been at my side. Not having him... Fighting against him... Him dead... I didn't know which was worse.

I sent a curse Fury's way. It was his fault in the first place that we were caught up in this mess. A playboy philanthropist dogwalker or whatever he called himself, some lab experiment from the 40's, and a scientist with, as Stark so kindly put it, slight anger management issues were not going to be able to pull together.

And with Barton turned against us...

Loki. I swore silently again. His brother was only slightly less annoying then that son of a-

Absorbed in my anger, I never saw the blow coming. My cheek suddenly felt like it was on fire as my head slammed into a pole. White spots danced in front of my eyes. And in my adrenaline- pumping fit of rage, I forgot that I was fighting Barton and had to be careful not to kill him. Someone had just attacked me. They must die.

I lashed out at my attacker with one lightning fast fist, keeping the other tucked in to guard my core. My knuckles struck home and his nose crunched satisfyingly under them. A swift kick in the knee sent him stumbling back. Leaping up, I grabbed a convenient lattice. My attacker rushed at me, but I twisted my legs around his neck and dropped down again. We both fell, but while I managed to roll onto my side, my attacker ate metal. His nose broke again, eliciting a groan from him. More adrenaline flooded my system at the sound. Dragging him up and pushing him against the yellow safety rail, I rapidly pounded his jaw and eyes and he collapsed. Then, in a fit of blind rage, I pushed him over the rail.

With a grim smile that quickly faded, I watched his body tumble down three stories to the cargo bay.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...  
_

Barton's body hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Stunned, I clung to the rail, staring down at the bloodied, crumpled mess that was Agent Clint Barton. The realization that I had just killed my closest companion didn't register. It couldn't be true.  
Grabbing a pole, I vaulted over the catwalk and, eight calculated feet later, landed on a broad beam that stretched out over the concrete floor. Bracing myself, I let my feet dangle, and then swung from the beam onto a short flight of metal stairs. I took them three at a time, almost falling when I reached the bottom, and began to sprint across the floor toward Barton.  
He was lying between three crates and a bundle of piping. Blood pooled around his head, some of it still oozing from his nostrils, and his neck was twisted at such an unlikely angle that it left no doubt in my mind it had been broken.  
Gasping, I knelt down swiftly beside him and touched his forehead with two fingers. There was no response. No response of any sort. He was not breathing, his heart was not beating, and I knew that he was dead.  
For several minutes, I couldn't cry. I could only stare, quaking with rage and frustration. Then, without thinking, I yanked my pistol from my belt and fired ten rounds into the floor. Once the gun was empty, I dropped my weapon, collapsed on the pile of crates, and sobbed so hard it made my lungs hurt nearly as bad as my conscience.  
This was my fault.

...No. This was Loki's fault.

Crawling down from my bed of crates, I placed a hand on Barton's chest, trying not to look at his mangled face. Hot tears ran down my cheeks and splashed onto his suit. The memory of that horrible, eerie vacuum in Barton's eyes made me shudder with revulsion. After a moment, I reached gently behind his shoulder and pulled an arrow from his quiver, examining it through blurry eyes. Might this have been the arrow Barton had set to fire into my own heart? But something had stopped him. I could be dead now. But Barton was instead. It would be a fitting tribute to my dear Hawkeye to bury this arrow in Loki's throat.

Tucking the arrow under my belt, I rose to my feet and surveyed the cargo hold, drawing a mental map in my head. Tears would have to wait until after I extracted revenge. I had to get to the containment cell. Fury had made the wrong decision. Loki ought to be eliminated immediately, forced to reap the consequences of the damage he had sown. Since my Clearance Level was Five, one step below the highest Clearance Level a SHIELD agent could claim, I knew I would have no problem gaining access to the cell bay...

* * *

I bent down slightly and widened my eyes, pushing a button on the wall. A red light flashed on, shining directly into my right eye. The retina scans were annoying, but they could not be worked around. The words "Agent Natasha Romanoff" flashed on the small screen beneath the scanner, and the doors slid open. Suddenly unsure of my decision, I paused, looking over my shoulder. No one knew I had come here. At least, no one important. And if they had, they would likely think Nick Fury had sent me, or something similar.

Keeping my face hard and my gaze fearless, I stepped through the doors silently, walking down the cold metal steps and slinking toward the transparent cell.

He was there. The demigod.

Loki was standing in the middle of his cylindrical prison with his back turned to me, presumably staring at the opposite wall. His hands were folded behind him, and he remained in this pose for some time, freakishly still. To all appearances, he did not move in the slightest – not even to breathe.

But he knew I was there. Somehow, he knew. A chill crept down my spine, sending liquid fear flooding through my veins. I shivered once, unable to control the reaction, and said nothing. It felt as though I had reached an invisible barrier, and could no longer force my legs to carry me further.

I jumped, feeling a sudden pulse of adrenaline as a masculine voice buzzed through my headset. "_We have a breach in Level 4B! Repeat, Level 4B!"_

Then another, female voice shouted, "_The computers have been deactivated! The entire panel — no, starboard wing is still functioning."_

_"All personnel, evacuate Level 4B! We are sending in security-"_

_"I lost my surveillance—"_

_"—do you copy?"_

_"Level 10A, I have an alert—"_

Firming my chin and staring directly at the man in the cage, I switched off the earpiece, satisfied that no one would be spying on my covert mission. Ten minutes ago I would have been disturbed by this sudden chaos, but with Barton's death, I felt strangely hollow. The only emotion that spiked through my numbness was the dull, throbbing, crimson hue that bathed the back of my eyes.

A low, sultry voice broke through the haze of red. "And why have you come?"

The words were so calm and so sudden that I could not formulate a reply. Loki turned around, letting his hands fall to his sides. The moment his gaze touched mine, I felt both a fresh wave of rage and a growing sense of vulnerability.

But that was illogical. He was the one trapped in the cylinder of death, not I, and even if the power systems were in trouble, it should remain secure.

Loki smiled. It was a heartless smile, dripping with poison and mock-sympathy.

Gritting my teeth gently, I began to traverse the remaining five feet of the metal walkway that stood between me and the cage. "Nick Fury sent me," I lied quietly, hiding my distress behind a mask of apathy. I sat down in the chair that had been placed in the middle of the walkway and put my hands on my knees, staring directly into his cold green eyes.

"Ah." Loki moved toward the dividing panel, his kilt — or skirt, or whatever it was he was wearing — bumping against his leather boots. It looked heavy, obviously made of metal and some other sturdy material. He stared down at me through the glassy wall, and it was only then that I realized how much taller he was than I. "I suppose you would like me to surrender to your feminine charms, then, and reveal the location of the tesseract."

Feeling as though I were at a disadvantage, I rose to my feet and forced a smile. His arrogant words and smug gaze served only to stoke my already-boiling anger. "No." I glared up at him, clenching my gloved fists and inhaling sharply. "Actually, I came to give you something. From a close friend of mine..."

Loki lifted his chin and raised one eyebrow, which instantly created a look of suspicion.

Only half-believing what I was about to do, I turned away and stalked slowly toward the control panel. Every step felt strained, as if my boots were made of lead. When I reached the elevated screen, I paused and turned to look at Loki. He was watching me silently, and the look on his face was both cautious and curious.

Turning back to the control panel, I let my hand hover over the lever that Nick Fury had pointed out some time earlier. One touch of that button would send Loki plummeting into oblivion. No one, god or mortal, could survive such a fall.

But the arrow I had taken from Barton's quiver pressed against my ribcage, as if in chastisement. I reached under my jacket with my free hand, touching the shaft with the tip of my finger.

"You don't want to do that."

I stiffened, caught off-guard, but resisted the pressing urge to look over my shoulder. He couldn't know Barton had been terminated. He might be strong enough for SHIELD to fear, but he was not a mind reader. Of that I was certain.

"No... I don't," I replied quietly. Lifting my hand away from the lever, I slowly withdrew Barton's arrow from under my belt with one hand, while shifting my other slightly to the left. It now rested over the key that would unlock Loki's makeshift prison.

For a moment I wavered. But the memory of Barton's mindless cruelty and bloody death cemented my decision. Clenching my jaw, I closed my eyes and pressed down on the lever. There was a low whooshing sound behind me, and then a click as the transparent sliding doors opened and locked in place.

When I opened my eyes and glanced behind me, Loki had already stepped out onto the metal walkway, his hands spread out in a friendly, disarming gesture. "To what do I owe this unexpected liberation?" he inquired, the same aggravating smirk creeping across his features as he continued to walk toward me.

I kept Barton's arrow concealed beneath my jacket and returned his smile, quaking on the inside and confident without. _Remember Hawkeye's death... Hawkeye... Hawkeye... Hawkeye... _

The red haze began to throb behind my eyes again, and I stared at Loki, who now appeared to be veiled in scarlet. "Your own worthiness," I whispered, revolted by my own lies. He began to ascend the stairs, his leather boots making no sound on the metal. When he was standing a mere three feet away, he stopped and looked down at me again.

"My own worthiness?" he repeated with pseudo-humility, as if savoring the words.

I gripped the shaft of Barton's arrow, and bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Yes. And please accept—" I faltered, overcome with grief and hatred, but maintained my false smile. "—accept _*this*..._ as a token of my regard for you."

With a snarl, I jerked the arrow out from beneath my jacket and thrust it into Loki's exposed throat. No blood poured from the wound. A strange, empty look came over his face, and before my eyes, he simply disappeared. I froze, taken aback, but before I had time to reorient myself, something grabbed me around the neck.

Stunned, I dropped my makeshift spear and reached up to grasp the arms of my attacker. They were clad in metal braces: Loki.

Now angry as well as afraid, I let go, realizing that he was the stronger. Instead of attempting to pull away, I grabbed my handgun, yanking it from the holster and aiming it over my shoulder. I fired once, but must have missed his face, because instead of letting me go, he tightened his hold. Panicking, I kicked at his knees, but somehow he evaded that as well and began to drag me backwards.

I managed to keep an iron grip on the handgun, but when I tried to fire again, the barrel was empty.

Cursing to myself, I remembered my fit of rage in the cargo bay. Wasted bullets. Releasing the pistol, I reached for the other one, but Loki wrapped one arm around my waist, pinning my left arm to my side, and grabbed my right wrist with his other hand. I strained for the gun, splaying my fingers in a vain effort to reach the holster, but Loki held firm. I was trapped. He had neutralized me, almost without even trying.

"Your friend had a heart..." he murmured in my ear, so close that I shivered. His breath felt surprisingly cold on my cheek. "Do you?"

Infuriated by my own failure, I gaped and tried to cry out for help, but my throat wouldn't open to let the air pass through. And besides that, I had turned off my headset...

Everything suddenly dimmed, and then faded to blackness.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel.**

**Yay! New Fanfiction! :D What do you guys think?**


	2. The Power of Insanity

Waking up after being knocked out was not a new sensation to me, but I hated it every time. My mouth felt dry and my tongue thick. I could feel cold metal with my fingertips, but as my hands were chained above my head, I couldn't see if it was the wall, my handcuffs, or something else entirely. My shoulders ached. The sleep that lingered in my eyes made it hard to focus. All I saw was black. And green, in a corner. Loki.

"I strongly dislike being chained to a wall," I muttered.

"Strongly dislike, or hate?" came his smooth voice.

"I hate you. I strongly dislike being kept in this position."

He chuckled coldly. "On the contrary, I am quite fond of this situation. It is easier for both of us." I heard quiet footsteps, but couldn't see him move. "You are brave." His voice seemed to come from far away. "Brave, but foolish," he whispered in my ear.

I jumped away, wrenching my arms. "Gah!"

Loki chuckled again. The sound echoed around me. It was dark, I was trapped, and Loki was much, much more powerful than I was. I had killed Barton. Despair surged through my body, worsening my aches and tightening my heart so much it hurt.

"Yes..." Loki's voice came from no discernible direction. "Anguish, misery, pain, it all makes you weaker." Maniacal glee tinged the demigod's voice. "You are a hopeless creature."

"No more than you," I hissed. Sinking into depression was oddly tempting, but if Loki wanted me to, it was the last thing I should do.

White light suddenly flared above me. I winced and ducked my head, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When I looked up, Loki's face- pale as snow- was inches away. His yellow-green eyes flashed angrily. A strand of black hair fell over his face.

When he spoke, the words were soft, but with an underlying edge that reflected the intensity of his stare. "I was hopeless," he corrected, grinning in a way that frightened me greatly. I felt a cold touch on the side of my face, but it vanished almost as quickly. A strange, almost beatific tone entered his dreadful voice. "Long ago. I knew pain. And grief. Yet I have risen above those that caused me pain. I have seen the universe for what it is, and learned my rightful place within it. I have been... enlightened. I am above you, and your mortal race... and I will always rule over you, the creatures of darkness. Without me, you are nothing." I leaned back, pressing my head against the wall. Loki's cold breath still washed over me. "You are scared of me," Loki breathed.

I was more than scared. I was terrified. Over the years, I had been shot at, chased, hunted, punched and kicked, rejected, accepted, captured and tormented. My strength had kept me alive. But none of that compared to this. I was an ant, waiting to be crushed.

Loki backed away, eyes softening slightly. "You are scared when you should be enthralled."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded in a rush. It was too late to retract my words when I realized I was taking the bait he had thrown out in front of me.

The bright light illuminated the demigod's intricate, heavy clothing. A slow smile crept over his sharp face. "Power, Natasha. I am talking about power greater than any you can imagine. The ability to make people bow before you, to have fountains of wine spring up in your footsteps. To have gold surround you, to envelop your enemies in choking mist, to spark rebellions with a word. All this, at your fingertips." Loki's smile widened even further. There was no malice in it. Only pure joy.

"I don't want it," I said flatly. He was insane.

"I think you do," he replied softly, leaning in and brushing a finger across my cheek. I shivered at his cold touch. "You want power more than anything..." Loki twisted a strand of my hair around his finger.

"No!" I gasped, trying to pull away. But the chains did not release their biting grip on my wrists, and the only thing I succeeded in doing was making Loki angry. Before I could react, he had hit me across the side of my face with the back of his hand.

Angry and humiliated, I turned my head away and squeezed my eyes shut. If I let the tears fall now, they might never stop.

"There is nowhere to run, Natasha." Loki's voice sank into a tantalizing whisper. "You have only to side with me, to aid me in my noble cause. Or, you can die."

I looked up at him again and gave him what I imagined was a steely-eyed glare. It was difficult to keep from showing my fear on my face. I hoped I was succeeding. I was dizzy, and could feel a bruise throbbing on the back of my head. "I would rather... die... than to side... with the monster... that destroyed... Clint Barton," I spat, panting in between the broken fragments of my sentence. There was nothing more he could take away from me. It did not matter if he knew my one weakness. Agent Barton was dead and gone.

Loki took several slow steps backwards, retreating to a dark corner of the room where I could no longer see him, and grew silent.

After a moment, I heard his voice again, this time sounding more distant and somewhat detached. "I would _strongly dislike_ having to prove you wrong." His echo of my earlier words went almost unnoticed. "Would it not be easier to give in now, and avoid unnecessary hardship?"

I remained silent.

There was a dull click, and a single, dangling lightbulb flickered on overhead. For the first time I could see my surroundings clearly. The room was small and had no windows. The one door that stood in the far corner appeared to have been bolted shut, and in the middle of the floor there was... a bed? A bed without a headboard, mattress, or pillow. It looked more like a table than a bed, but someone was lying on top of the hard surface, apparently sleeping. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, and his eyes were closed. It looked like...

"Clint!"

Feeling my heart jump – and then skip a beat – I tried to rise, tried to go to him, but was held fast by my chains, caught like a bird in a cage. I felt blood ooze around the manacles and trickle down my sleeves.

Loki sauntered toward the table, watching me out of the corner of his eye. "Since there is nothing that could change your mind, I suppose I should simply dispense with him now..."

I froze, paralyzed by my own fear. Was that really him? Barton was dead. I had seen him for myself. But then, they called Loki a god. Could Barton's gruesome demise have possibly been some sort of trick? Could _this _be a trick?

As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Loki smirked and shook his head at me. "I am powerful, Natasha. Believe what you will about Barton. The mistake will be yours."

I watched in horror as Loki placed the point of his scepter on Barton's throat. A stream of red lanced down the side of his neck, and I cried out. "Stop!"

Loki paused, turning his head slightly to look me in the face. His demonic eyes gleamed, reflecting the dim lightbulb that hovered above the table. "I think not, Agent Romanoff." He lifted the scepter and moved it to Barton's wrist instead. "Do you think," he began softly, "that it will be hard for him to shoot with only one hand?" Before I could say anything, Loki sliced off Barton's hand. Blood gushed from his mutilated arm as his back arched and his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

"No!" My scream was far from silent. "No! How could you do that?" I stared at Barton in horror. He lay panting on the bed, eyes screwed shut.

A pleased light entered Loki's eyes. "Then you will accept my offer?"

"Not on your worthless life," I growled without hesitation. Barton wouldn't want me to give into this monster just because of this. But he had lost his greatest weapon. What good was Hawkeye without a bow?

"Hmm..." The scepter drifted with Loki's hand again. "If he means so little to you..." The weapon was poised over Barton's throat once again. In horror, I watched as Loki cut a thin red line into Barton's skin. Skin that I had kissed.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and gulped for air, still straining against the chains. "Don't touch him again! I will..." I paused, wavering as Loki stared expectantly at me. My insides began twisting themselves into a knot as I pondered how much I would give to defend Barton's life – and with no guarantee that what I saw before me was any more real than the vision of Loki that had marched up the stairs in the helicarrier.

And I knew that I could not take a chance. I could not risk losing Barton twice. My heart pounded erratically and sweat slicked my palms, but I finally managed to whisper the words: "I will do whatever you ask."

A devilish grin stole over Loki's pale face, and he snapped his fingers. Barton disappeared. So quickly, so quietly. The vision was gone. And I knew I had been deceived.

I slumped wearily against my chains, the pain in my wrists and arms suddenly feeling like nothing. Soft footsteps marked Loki's movements, but I was too defeated to care. He had tricked me. I had fallen for it like a raindrop from the sky. A gentle finger lifted my chin.

"No mortal can beat me at my game," Loki said in a voice that I suspected to be his perverted version of soothing. "Do not feel discouraged."

Minutes ago I would have replied snarkily. Something along the lines of, "_You think that will make me feel better? Stark is more comforting than you are." _But now I just stood there, insides twisted and hollow.

"You will do whatever I ask, hm?" Loki continued. "There are many ways I can exploit those words, but for now, I will simply give you what I promised. Power."

Loki stood a foot away from me, green eyes narrowed in concentration. My chains suddenly vanished. I would have fallen if he had not caught me and propped me up against the wall again. "Weak human," he muttered. With hands braced on my shoulders, Loki stared deep into my eyes. He began to chant in a soft language I didn't recognize. Was this the language of Asgard? Or did they speak English?

"I'm going insane," I mumbled, the edges of my vision blurring.

"You become accustomed to it, I assure you."

Blackness covered my vision like a heavy blanket. _Not again..._

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel_  
_Thank you SO much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! You guys the are best!  
**


	3. The Ultimate Villain

When I woke up again, it was actually pleasant. I was not chained to a wall, but rather cushioned by soft pillows and thick sheets. Stretching luxuriously and feeling well rested, I pushed the sheet down with my feet and sat up.  
"I was afraid I had killed you."  
I yelped in fright and Loki materialized in front of me. It took a lot to scare me, but Loki and his magic could make me cringe with the simplest of tricks. Unnatural: That's what it was.  
The demigod smirked at me. "If you continue to be my pawn, I will require a lesser propensity to be frightened from you."  
Scowling, I edged across the room. "Where are we?" I asked, noting a wall of solid windows covered by blinds.  
"In a room," Loki answered smoothly.  
"You're so smart," I snapped. "What city?"  
"A large one." His eyes glinted and a sardonic smile touched his lips.  
I turned away from Loki with a huff. With crossed arms, I examined the room. If he planned on being irritating, it was a simple enough matter to ignore him. The large bed I woke up in was covered by a heavy canopy. The green and gold cloth- of course those colors- carried an intricate pattern that reminded me of Celtic knots and was held up by elaborately carved wooden posts. The walls were tastefully covered in expensive paintings. Beautiful Greek statues stood like sentries in each corner. Everything about the room screamed wealth and power. I rather liked it.

"No," I muttered, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. I couldn't like this. Everything about this was bad. I had given into Loki's wishes to save Barton's phantom. Clint was really dead and I should be running for my life from Loki. But... The room _was_ nice. And Loki had promised me power. I drummed my fingers on my arm. He had said that there was nothing I desired more than power. I wanted to deny it. Yet, isn't that what I had spent my whole life doing? Seeking power?

I sneaked a look over my shoulder at Loki. The tall man- or god, whatever- stood with his back to me, arms hanging loose at his sides. His black hair, brushed back neatly, shone in the sunlight. Light? Looking past him, I realized that he had opened the blinds when my back was turned.

Loki half turned, a sly smile on his face. He tilted his head slightly, gestured to the windows, then backed away. He wanted me to look?

Warily, I stepped forward. Loki took another step back, leaving at least ten feet between us. More confidently now, I walked to the window and looked out. A brief glance was all I needed to tell me that we were in New York City. The Big Apple. Home to hundreds of thousands of powerful people.

Power. What kind of power had Loki given me? Had he even? Or was it just another trick?

Resisting the urge to ask him, I turned away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. Loki moved back to the window and clasped his hands behind his back, looking out once more. I bit my lip. The bed creaked a little as I shifted, but that was the only noise.

I wanted to know. Knowledge was power. I lacked both right now. Or did I? I knew what city I was in, and that Loki wasn't intent on killing me at the moment. That had to count for something. I glanced at the door. From where I was, I couldn't tell if it was locked. Probably. Loki wasn't exactly an idiot.

I snapped my gaze back to him. Power. He didn't ooze it like his brother or Stark, but Loki definitely had that air about him. Did others see that kind of power when they looked at me? I was a more than capable killer, but all men seemed to see was my looks. Loki saw my weaknesses. Yet he had offered me power... And _something_ had happened to me once I had been tricked into accepting. Why would he give me power in the first place? Why risk having me turn against him?

I glanced at the door again. _Just run. _Was that Loki's voice in my head? It couldn't be. Unless the power he gave me was telepathy. Grinding my teeth together, I stared at the demigod's back. His black leather dress thing clung to his lean muscles. Yes. Loki had both physical and magical power.

The ultimate villain.

"What power did you give me?" I blurted, following it up with a loud curse.

Loki's shoulders shook as he chuckled darkly. "Ignorance is not bliss," he said, turning to face me. His green eyes caught in the light, giving them a clear look. "I gave you three things," he said, holding up that many fingers. "But I will only tell you one."

"More games?" I snarled.

Loki smiled mischievously. "As always, dear."

"Tell me," I demanded, walking right up to him. The scarlet haze was returning. I could do nothing against him, and Loki knew it. Exploited it. It was driving me insane. What had he said? _ You become accustomed to it. _It being insanity. I brushed the thought to the side. "Tell me what powers you gave me!"

Loki raised an eyebrow, looking down his nose at me. My chest rose and fell as struggled to contain my anger, brushing against the front of his cape. I stepped back. "I gave you speed and strength almost equal to an Asgardian," Loki said finally.

I blinked. Strength? I felt no stronger than usual. But if I was...

Without thinking, I threw a right handed hook at Loki. He caught my wrist and yanked it down to my side without apparent effort.

"_Almost_ equal," he smirked. But the punch had had more power behind it than I should have been capable of. And I had swung faster. "Might I suggest that statue in the corner?" Loki said, gesturing to one of the Greek statues. Giving him a dubious look, I stepped up to it- a young woman with flowing hair and a set of pipes. "Go on."

I swung my fist. The statue shattered.

"Very good," Loki said, as if complimenting a child on a scribble covered paper. He was still smirking.

"Ow." I looked down at my fist, all of a sudden feeling a horrible stinging pain. Blood leaked from a dozen cuts on my knuckles.

"Hmm..." Loki grabbed my hand before I realized he had moved. "It seems I failed to give you the physical integrity of an Asgardian to go with the strength." He glanced at my stunned face. "And the intellect. No matter." Loki swept his hand over my knuckles. Gold sparks fell like rain from his palm, sealing my cuts wherever they landed. The demigod released my hand and stepped back to the window, resuming his pose before I had asked about my power.

I stared at him in disbelief. "No matter?"

"Oh, yes. Having a shortcoming will be beneficial for you, I believe."

"I could kill myself!"

Loki shrugged.

I clenched my fists, struggling to keep from punching him or something else in the room. Either would more than likely result in more pain on my part. Letting out an angry breath, I moved to the door. Loki had said he wouldn't tell me the other two parts. I wasn't about to hang around with this creep any longer to find out. Hopefully, I would be able to discover them on my own.

The door was a simple hotel door. Latched on the inside, with a key card slot outside no doubt. A small peephole at eye level. I looked through it, but saw only white and silver wallpaper.

Peeking over my shoulder, I saw that Loki hadn't moved. Maybe my second power was stealth. Quietly, I unlatched the door and tried the handle. Still locked. Confused, I took a step back, raking my gaze over the door for some other lock.

"Your second power is the ability to walk through walls. Very metaphorical, don't you think? Overcoming adversities and obstacles and all of that." Loki's cold breath in my ear, the warm touch of his hands on my shoulders, and the shove forward he gave me was enough to make me scream. But I didn't hit the door.

I clenched my eyes shut and braced for pain, but none came. When I opened my eyes, I saw the hallway. Just as Loki had said, I had gone through the wall. Or door. Same difference, apparently. Recovering my wits, I spun to face the door I had come through. It didn't open. I hesitated only a second before bolting down the hall. I could run faster then before. The thought pleased me until I realized Loki was still faster. I ran harder until I reached an elevator at the very end. Punching the button half a dozen times, I hopped from foot to foot and glanced constantly over my shoulder. No Loki. The elevator doors slid open with a cheerful ding. I rushed inside, startling an older woman and her white fluffy thing. It growled at me. "Sorry," I mumbled, hitting the button labeled "L".

For a minute, the elevator descended with soft music from hidden speakers as the only noise.

"Are you doing a movie or something?" the lady finally asked.

"Um, no."

She eyed me strangely. "Cosplay?"

"What?"

Shaking her head, the lady stroked her dog. "Brush your hair, dear."

I obediently ran my fingers through my messy red hair. We stopped, and the doors slid open with another ding. I dashed out, leaving the woman with her dog. The lobby was every bit as nice as the room I had been locked in. Several people stared as I sprinted through, but nobody yelled for me to stop. I pushed through the revolving glass doors and skidded to a stop outside, looking up. Curly gold letters proclaimed "Hotel Carlyle." There were no explosions. No people screaming and running out of the hotel. No Loki. Squinting upwards, I caught a glimpse of green in the topmost window. Trying to catch my breath, I scanned the road for a familiar building. Nothing. But a skyscraper in the distance caught my attention. Without a second thought, I took off for it. Large neon letters on top read "Stark."

* * *

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Tony exclaimed as I stumbled out of his elevator. "Where'd you get off to?"

I collapsed on one of his couches. Leave it to Stark to get right to the chase. "What happened? Why are you even home?"

He shrugged, pulling two glasses out of a cabinet and filling them with amber liquid. "Hulk got loose, destroyed some things. We found Barton dead, you missing, and Loki's cage gone. Dropped from the helicarrier, apparently. Fury announced him dead and sent us home." Stark handed me one of the glasses and sat next to me. "Drink up. You look like you need it. It's my best scotch."

I downed half the glass, coughing as it burned down my throat. "Loki's..." I coughed. "Still alive."

"Nonsense," Tony scoffed. "A drop from that height would have killed Hammerboy, and he's stronger than Loki. Now, c'mon. I answered your question. What happened to you?"

I coughed again, trying to ease the burning sensation in my throat. "Loki captured me." No need to explain how. "He tortured me." In a way. "Then he took me to some random penthouse. Not really sure what he wanted, because I managed to escape before he did whatever he wanted." Well, it wasn't a complete lie. I _had_ escaped. I just had the distinct feeling he had let me go.

Stark shook his head. "Good going, girl. I always knew you had it in you." He stood up and paced for a minute. "I suppose I should tell Fury, huh?" I nodded. Stark grabbed a handful of peanut M&Ms and sat down again. "Later."

"Stark! Loki's still out there! You need to-"

"Excuse me, Sir."

"Yeah, Jarvis?" Stark looked up at the ceiling, talking through a mouthful of candy.

"Do you remember those strange readings we recorded coming off Loki at the helicarrier?"

"Well, you weren't exactly there, but yeah."

Jarvis' calm voice continued. "Miss Romanoff has the same field about her."

"But we only got those when he tried magic..." Stark sat up, staring at me.

"What kind of readings?" I asked, heart thudding.

"Bad ones," Stark answered grimly.

* * *

**I sincerely apologize for earlier technical difficulties. Computers. Such a love/hate relationship...  
**

**Gosh, you guys are so amazing. I love you all. Thanks so much for all the alerts.**

**(I changed my pen name. Sorry if it caused confusion, but I thought the old one was ill-fitting and too complicated. This one fits me much better and is easier to remember :D)**


	4. Of Heroes and Demigods

"Sir," Jarvis continued, "I have constructed a biokinetic model, and the radionuclide levels are off the charts. As I said previously, I am also detecting the same elusive aura that SHIELD's inferior scanners had difficulty picking up in the Helicarrier."

I didn't like the look Stark was giving me, and rose from the couch. Stalking across the room toward the cabinets, I grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured myself another glass. After swallowing a gulp, I mumbled, "Just some trick of Loki's. Don't know what Jarvis is talking about..."

I heard Stark get up and begin walking toward me. Unnerved, I turned to face him, feeling slightly cornered but not quite sure why. "Stark, relax. I promise I had nothing to do with this."

He took the bottle from me and set it on the counter, his eyebrows narrowed in suspicion. "With what?" he pressured, stepping closer. He had me trapped between the counter and the wall.

I felt my blood pressure rise several degrees. Now I was irritated as well as discomfited. Since when did he have the nerve to suspect me of being a double-agent, or to interrogate me so bluntly on behalf of SHIELD? As if. I was more trustworthy than Stark himself. My years of service and loyalty to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division had sufficiently proven that.

"Kindly step away," I requested through clenched teeth, ignoring his inquiry. My tone of voice should have been enough of a warning, but Stark didn't take the hint.

Instead, he promptly fired off another question, tilting his head to one side and squinting at me. "What did Loki do to you?"

He was too close. I had been leaning against the counter, but when I took a step back with the intention of moving away, there was no pressure, no resistance. One more step later, Stark's expression morphed from disgruntled to disbelieving. I glanced down and swore: I was now standing on the other side of the counter. I had, apparently, "walked through the wall," and this time Stark had seen it happen.

"What the-"

Stark didn't have time to finish his expletive; I punched him across the jaw. My strength and reflexes had been so enhanced that he likely never saw it coming. The billionaire went flying backwards, crashed into a bar stool, and ended up sprawled awkwardly on the floor.

Though startled by my own reaction, I quickly concluded that it had been in self-defense. It was how I had been trained to react in a potentially threatening situation. I needed to get out of Stark Tower, run to Fury, and explain everything that had happened. Surely he would set a plan in motion to hunt down the demigod and bring him to his knees.

"JARVIS!" Tony Stark's shout encouraged me to turn and dash for the exit. "Lock the doors!"

Feeling empowered and over-confident, I spun around again - realizing that simply running through walls in Stark Tower would not be the brightest notion I'd ever had – and sank into a defensive posture. Stark had pried himself up off the floor and moved toward what looked like a closet. He was holding out his arms. A panel in the wall slid back, revealing Mark VII: newly repaired and likely upgraded, since Stark spent every spare second playing with his suit of armor.

_ Oh, bad._

I hesitated for one precious second, and then sprinted across the room toward Stark. I wasn't going to kill him. That would be out of the question. But I had to get out of there, and if Mr. Egotistical was rendered unconscious it would make my task much easier. Not only that, but I needed to make sure that I got in touch with SHIELD before he did, or I would be in deep trouble. I knew Stark thought I had switched sides. And judging from the evidence at hand - C_urse that nosy AI system! _- it certainly looked like I had.

It was too late. When my unlikely adversary turned to face me, he was almost fully encompassed in Mark VII. The prospect of fighting Stark in full hero-attire was daunting, to say the very least. I had never attempted to take down Iron Man. Nor did I have any confidence that I could. The only piece of armor that was missing was his helmet. Seizing my one remaining opportunity, I launched myself at Stark, aiming a knock-out kick at his head. His heavy visor flipped down before I could complete the maneuver, and two seconds later I found myself lying flat on my back with several broken toes and an intense throbbing in my skull.

Before Iron Man could slam his metal fist down on my head (presumably) I rolled out of the way and struggled to get into a crouch, trying desperately to ignore the searing pain. What had Loki said? _It seems I failed to give you the physical integrity of an Asgardian to go with the strength._ I swore and leaped backwards as Iron Man levitated himself off the ground, burning the tiles. "Put 'em up, widower," he warned, his voice emanating from every speaker system in the room, plus his Iron Man suit. "I'd like to avoid completely decimating my living space."

Instead of complying, I leaped to my feet and then dodged as Iron Man zipped across the room, both hands outstretched. Acting on instinct, I threw myself down and to the left. Unable to simply grab me as planned, he was forced to make a quick choice between denting the ceiling or taking out the custom-made lamp standing beside the leather recliner. Apparently he was unable to reach a decision in the allotted amount of time, because he blasted through the recliner instead, knocking it completely over and sending the lamp flying across the room.

Before he could do an about-face, I sprinted for the window, hoping there would be a ledge outside, or at least a handhold. I skidded to a halt when I saw the straight drop down into the busy streets of New York City. There was nowhere to run. When I turned around, Iron Man had both feet on the ground and was walking toward me. Each step was heavy and ominously purposeful. Mark VII looked more menacing that it ever had before.

I knew Stark. I had known him for quite some time, in fact. But never had I seen him from this point of view, or imagined what it would be like to contend with the man.

"You gonna give up now, or make me fight you? 'Cause I'd rather drop you off at SHIELD headquarters to be interrogated in one piece. They're not extremely fond of me as it is."

It was pointless. Everything within me screamed, 'Fight back!' but that would only be delaying the inevitable, and likely causing myself further pain. Before I could open my mouth, however, a sultry voice broke through the momentary silence. "I was expecting you to do something a bit more subtle than running to the biggest enterprise in New York."

I recognized Loki's condescending tones and moaned in frustration, but Stark's reaction was a bit more violent. Spinning around, he held up one hand and attempted to terminate the demigod then and there. The blue surge of energy went right through Loki and burned the wall behind him. Despite having seen that trick before, it still made me jump when he disappeared. "Impressive. Shall we try that again?" asked a second Loki, which had stepped out from behind the counter with a sardonic smirk plastered on his face.

"Look who showed up," scoffed Iron Man, regaining his composure. "My old friend, Reindeer Games. Come back for another round?"

"Just saving poor Romanoff from your big mouth." Another blast of blue light flew towards Loki, but the demigod dodged it easily.

The two egotistical men flew at each other like animals. Loki's tesseract staff proved as ineffective as Stark's plasma blasts, so they threw each other across the room time and time again. I shrank down, trying to stay out of the way. Part of me wanted Loki to win. The rest of me was screaming at that small part for being an idiot.

Stark tossed Loki into the counter and then turned on his rockets, slamming his head into Loki's stomach. The demigod fell to the side, gasping for breath. Stark grabbed his cape and threw him across the room. Loki rolled and swung his staff as Stark came flying at him. It hit his helmet with a loud clang. Stark slammed into a chair and shakily climbed to his feet, shaking his head.

"I needed those brain cells, idiot. The world can't live without me and my genius."

"Remember what I mentioned about your big mouth?" Loki's suave voice was only a little breathless.

Stark ran at Loki, but the demigod reached out and grabbed him with lightning reflexes, hurling him in my direction. I tried to dodge out of the way, but couldn't manage, even with my improved speed. Stark and his heavy suit crashed into me, knocking me halfway through the glass wall.

"Woah!" I shouted, trying to push him off me. My torso hung out over open air. "Stark!" He didn't seem to notice me. Firing the plasma jets in his boots, Stark used me like the floor, flying back at Loki. I screamed, unashamed, as the blue fire burned through my suit and onto my legs. Then I was falling. Falling from the very top of Stark Tower, having been pushed through by Stark.

I was going to kill Loki. What an idiotic power.

My body twisted, and suddenly I realized how quickly the ground was coming closer and screamed again. Glass shattered above me. I expected to feel Stark's, well, iron grip saving me from disaster, but instead, Loki's long arms locked around my body. I struggled against him, but everything suddenly went cold and black.

The sensation only lasted a fraction of a second, then we were back in the penthouse. Loki was holding me like his new bride. I was painfully aware of his strong arms holding me tight to his chest, and the quickened beat of his heart.

An inarticulate scream of rage and pain ripped from my mouth.

"I told you to be careful with your power," Loki said, laying me down on the bed.

"You... you..." I peppered him with a range of insulting words.

"Now, now," he chided with a lazy smile. There were several cuts on his face oozing blood, but they were already healing. "It is common courtesy, is it not, to be kind to the man who rescued a damsel in distress?"

"I was only in distress because of the idiotic power you gave me! And I am _not_ a damsel!"

Loki smirked. "Are you planning to let that fire burn all day?" The fabric of my jumpsuit was still smoldering, even though my leg had gone numb. Before I could reply, icy cold water suddenly doused my leg.

"Aih!" I shouted, scooting backwards across the bed. "That's cold! And it's making my burn sting!"

Loki grabbed my uninjured leg and tugged me back. "Do not move. I wish to treat you." There was a different look in his eyes than any I had seen previously. No malice, grim amusement, anger, or mischief. A softer, kinder light filled his green eyes. I nodded hesitantly. Gently, Loki took my calf in his hands, examining it with a furrowed brow. He almost looked concerned about me. "I will personally rip Tony Stark's head off for damaging my pawn," he murmured, ruining the effect.

I propped myself up on my elbows. "Your pawn? Really?"

He looked up at me. "Yes. That is what you are, so that is what I will call you," Loki answered smoothly. "Your toes are broken," he commented. "Simple enough..." Gold sparks rained down on them, vanishing the pain almost instantly. Loki returned his attention to my burn. "Now, I am going to have to remove part of your leg-"

"What!" I screeched. A confused look flitted across his face. "You cannot chop off my leg!"

Loki hesitated, then laughed. It wasn't a cold laugh either. A laugh like Clint's, warm and friendly. I swore silently. What was this demigod doing to me?

"I apologize," he said with a smile. "My English is not always perfect. I meant that I need to cut off part of the leg of your jumpsuit." He stopped and moved his lips soundlessly, as if checking to make sure he was right. "Yes, I need to do that. Then I will be able to see the extent of your injury."

I groaned and lay back. "Whatever. Just make it stop hurting. It's really annoying." Throwing an arm over my eyes, I pressed my lips together and forced myself not to panic as I felt a small knife press through the material of my jumpsuit just above the knee. Hadn't Loki just proved that he would look after me? I frowned. Why? Why was he doing any of this? He was an evil demigod trying to take over the world. I had gone to kill him, and he had just saved my life. Not to mention the powers.

"What's the third power?" I asked, remembering what he had said.

Loki pulled fabric away from my burned and half melted skin, making me wince. "You will discover it soon," he said evasively.

"Why?"

"Why what?" Something cool pressed onto my calf. I pushed myself up onto my elbows again. Loki met my eyes with both hands resting lightly on my burn.

"Why are you doing all of this for me?"

He looked at me silently. "You will discover that, as with your power, in due time." Gold sparks, just like before, flooded out from Loki's palms, bathing my leg in blessed numbness. I watched in fascination as the blackened skin paled to its normal color. Within seconds, there was no sign of the plasma burn. "Does it hurt?" Loki asked.

"No," I muttered, pulling away. "Um, thanks, I guess."

His characteristic smirk was back. "Gratitude..."

"Is overrated when dealing with an evil demigod," I snapped.

Loki's eyes flashed angrily. "Another phrase like that, and I will relieve you of your tongue just as I will relieve Stark of his head." He vanished.

Alone in the penthouse, I pulled my knees to my chest and stared out of the wall of windows. What was going on?


	5. The Third Power

I was not sure how long Loki was gone - it seemed like only minutes - but after an unknown space of time, I began to feel dizzy. I was already lying down, but wondered vaguely if closing my eyes might help the sensation fade. As soon as I let my eyelids flutter shut, however, the memory of Loki's sudden comings and goings made them fly open again. I did not relish the thought of being surprised once more, and I was already in a vulnerable position. No need to put myself at any more of a disadvantage.  
Taking a deep breath, I sighed, and tried to relax. My heart was jumping wildly under my sternum, and I could feel my pulse drumming in my temples. The room seemed to bend in on itself.  
Then something snapped in my mind. I don't know how it happened. I don't think I ever will. My heart rate accelerated to a fever pitch for several minutes, and then seemed to stop beating altogether, as if it had frozen in time. I felt like I was falling out of a plane - without a parachute. Even though my eyes were wide open and locked on a chair across the room, it was all strangely surreal: I couldn't move; I couldn't breathe.  
The room had stopped spinning, but suddenly everything appeared to be splattered with thick, viscous blood. A floating crimson heart appeared before me just as I felt a great emptiness threaten to crush my chest from within. The ghostly apparition was two feet in diameter, beating violently. More blood oozed from it. I knew it was my heart. My bloodstained heart.  
And then the fog descended...

_Roux's French-laden words still echoed in my ears: "If you fail, we will kill you. Even the feared Black Widow cannot hide from us..."  
I gritted my teeth as I inched through the painfully narrow tunnel. It was pitch black, and the cramped situation I now found myself in was not conducive to my particular set of talents. Claustrophobia: a weakness of mine that not many knew. I saw nothing, but if my information was correct, I would be directly over my target's living quarters in a few moments. I had to be careful not to misjudge the distance. I extended a hand, groping for the next board that jutted out overhead...  
_

Twenty-two...  
_Another. _Twenty-three...  
_One more. _Twenty-four.

_Halting, I took a deep, silent breath and tensed every muscle in my body. Then I listened. Not a sound from below. Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, I withdrew something small and round: the explosive Roux had suggested I might need to break in. Then I struck a match. The tiny flame hissed, sputtered, and then gently ceased its protest, content to bob back and forth above my fingers. It was as I had thought. The boards beneath me were thick, and there was no space to kick them down into the room below.  
Squinting slightly, I held up the explosive and let my finger graze the triggering switch. I preferred to use physical force, but there were times when guns, gasses, and bombs worked better than brute strength. In such close quarters, I had no hope of getting in without injuring myself unless I used other means. With a slight cringe, I placed the explosive on the nearest board, and flipped the switch. A soft beeping sound emanated from the miniscule bomb in a mechanized countdown, and I crawled backwards as far as I could: there was no room to turn around. Just before the fifth beep sounded, I ducked, covering my head with my hands. There was a sharp pop, and then a muffled boom and the sound of splintering wood. Smoke filled the air and I stifled a cough, wriggling forward again. I felt before me with my gloved fingers, still wincing at the hot touch of the smoldering boards despite the protection.  
There. A gap in the wooden panels. The explosive had done its job. I was almost disappointed; that meant that Roux had been right.  
Holding my breath, I grasped the beam above my head, swung down through the hole in the floor - or rather, the ceiling - and landed on the rubble-strewn carpet below in a ready crouch. I had maybe one minute at best to complete my task, having made such a racket just getting in. Roux had assured me, however, that it was the only logical way to enter the house. It was dark in the room, but I had brought nothing with me to provide any light. That would have been stupid, and given away my location. For one tense moment, I thought I heard heavy breathing, but it quieted a second later. The smoke was thick, and I waited for it to settle somewhat before advancing. A choked sob reached my ears. I turned in that direction, soundless and stealthy as I slunk across the floor. _

_When I reached the middle of the room, the smoke had begun to clear, and a small nightlight in the corner showed me a bed standing against the wall beside a dresser. Empty. The elaborate covers had been thrown back, and a crumpled pillow lay on the floor nearby. Squinting, I finally saw a shadow lurking behind a chair, apparently draped in a blanket. It was impossible to tell how large the target was, or of what gender, though it mattered little. My job was to terminate whoever was in the room, and collect my pay from Roux.  
Withdrawing a handgun from its holster, I aimed it directly at the shadow and prepared to pull the trigger. But before I could, there was a small yelp... very soft, very childlike. The target stood up from behind the chair and plastered itself against the windowless wall. The dim orange glow from the nightlight illuminated a small, girlish face. Her blue eyes were wide, and they were staring directly into mine. Rumpled blonde hair framed her cheeks, and she was clutching what looked like a doll or stuffed animal of some sort. For an instant, I hesitated. Roux had not told me who my target was. Only that I was to kill whoever was in the room. Could there be a mistake? Could there be someone else hiding in the closet?_

"_Please?" Her voice, faint and frightened, jerked my attention back to her. Was this really right? Killing a girl? But if I didn't, Roux would find me and kill me.  
Then my finger squeezed the trigger. I had not a second to spare, no time to feel anything other than the cold delight of snuffing out yet another life. The silencer on my gun muffled the bang, creating a high-pitched, metallic twang instead.  
There was no sound from the girl. Not even a gasp as the bullet entered her head.  
Only silence.  
The child crumpled to the ground, still clutching her doll, and I froze, suddenly unable to tear my gaze away from the dreadful sight._

"No!" My eyes flew open and I struggled to sit up. The blanket was twisted around me, choking me, restraining me... I kicked it off, panting and drenched in sweat. My heart still thudded. The girl's face had haunted my dreams before, but never like this. Shaking, I climbed out of the bed and made my way to the wall of windows. The familiar glow of New York City below me was comforting, but I couldn't get the child's face out of my head. She must have been only five. Curly blonde hair and wide, pale blue eyes formed the very picture of innocence. And the stuffed bear with angel wings she clutched to her chest was darkly ironic. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. The blood that coursed down her pale face from the hole in her forehead...

I made a faint whimpering noise and wrapped my arms around my stomach. Why had I done that? For the money. I opened my eyes and stared down at the neon city. It was a simple, devastating answer. Back then, I had been a monster. Before Clint had shown me what mercy was, I had been a dark shadow that plagued children's dreams. That little girl hadn't been the only child I had killed, either. Only the most traumatizing.

Hot tears laced down my cheeks. I shivered. How could I have been so... _heartless?_ No thought for the child's life, no thought for her parents. Just my own safety. I had wanted nothing to destroy the comfortable, if shady, life I led.

A warm blanket draped over my shoulders. I sniffed and tried to wipe away my tears while pulling it tighter around me. Its weight was soothing and the fabric wasn't rough at all. The blanket, I discovered, was dark green and trimmed with gold.

"Is that better?" he asked in a low, soft voice.

"Why do you always just, _appear_?" If not for the blanket as a slight warning, I would have fallen through the window again.

"Many reasons," he said softly, tugging the blanket tighter around me.

"How long have you been here?" I demanded.

I felt a breath of cold air as Loki whispered the answer in my ear. "Long enough to recognize your distress and conjure the blanket."

I stepped to the side, away from him. "Will you ever give me a straight answer?"

"Hmm..." I turned to look at him and saw a mischievous smile play across his features. "Perhaps... If the need is dire..."

"Great to know you're looking out for me," I said sarcastically.

"I am," he responded.

"What happened to Stark?" I asked suddenly.

Loki shrugged. "I left him and jumped out the window to rescue you from your own stupidity. No doubt he is nursing his ego and deciding if he should report the incident to Fury."

I stared out the window again. Loki always managed to relax and annoy me at the same time. He moved behind me again, resting a hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to turn around and punch him. Since I had woken up here, all Loki had done was protect and help me. His long fingers gently squeezed my shoulder.

"I know why you are troubled," he whispered. His hand left my shoulder and ran through the twisted strands of my hair. "I know what you dreamed of."

Unwilling to pull away from his soft touch, I closed my eyes again. The girl's face appeared, soaked in blood. "How do you know?"

Loki paused for so long, I thought he hadn't heard me. "I gave you that dream," he said finally.

My breath caught and I jerked away. Loki stepped back, eyes soft and arms spread. "It is your last power. To be able to face your past." He looked almost apologetic.

"You... you _monster_," I hissed, tears pressing against the backs of my eyes again. "Why would you make me relive my past?"

"So you can move on." He lifted his chin, stubbornness entering his eyes. In the semi-darkness by the window, Loki looked taller than ever. "True power comes only when you can accept your history and let it define who you are. There is no denying that you killed that girl. Suppressing the memory will not bring her back. Accepting it, however, will allow you to move on and realize your full potential."

In a rage, I flung myself at him. My first punch connected solidly with his chest, but my second

glanced off his shoulder. Loki grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. Slamming my foot down on the instep of his own, I wrenched my arm away. His eyes glinted with anger as I took a step back.

"You are a fool," he said, advancing with a slight limp.

Without answering, I jumped at him with feet extended. Any other man would have been caught full in the face and knocked flat. But this was Loki. He ducked to the side, grabbed my ankles, and spun me around, tossing me to the floor.

Winded and shaken, I struggled to my feet.

"Stop this madness," he demanded.

"You sound like your brother," I retorted.

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Do not attack me again, for you can never prevail against me, and you will be left in pieces. I am trying to help you."

I shook my head and ground out my next words through clenched teeth. "You gave me that dream. You made me suffer."

"You cannot grow without pain." Loki's eyes flashed. "In time, you will see the truth. Until then, you will continue to see your past. It will keep you weak until you are ready." Loki stepped forward, cautiously reaching out a hand in the same way one might approach a frightened animal. I stood perfectly still. He brushed the back of his hand over my cheek. "I hope, for your sake," he whispered, "that you realize the truth soon." His warm touch vanished, along with the rest of his body.

With a sob of despair, I fell onto a couch. There was no way I was going to sleep again. Not if I were to face another nightmare of my bloody past. Determined to wait until dawn before I did anything rash, I focused on the lights of New York City below and tried to block out everything I had seen... and everything Loki had promised.

* * *

**Co-Written with Alassiel**

**We came up with a genre for this story! Fluffy angst! XD**


	6. Benedict

I must have fallen asleep. The thought galled me as I stood up from the couch. If I had been awake, I would have remembered seeing the sunrise. But the sun, tauntingly bright and cheery, was already well into the sky. I groaned in frustration. At least I hadn't had one of those nightmares. Loki... I was going to kill that demigod. At first, his gift of speed and strength seemed wonderful. But Barton was dead, I could fall through any sort of structure that was _supposed_ to keep me safe, and I would be plagued with haunting images of my past until I fully submitted to Loki.

I began to pace from one end of the room to the other, biting my lip. Why did I even stay here? I could walk through walls, after all. Was Loki going to come back? Should I be worried about it? Or happy? No, not happy. My brow furrowed. I would never be happy to see that arrogant, twisted, selfish piece of Asgardian-

Sleekness.

Loki smirked at me, eyes glinting as though he knew exactly what I was thinking. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in pockets, dressed in a loosely fitting t-shirt and an expensive pair of jeans.

I stared at him. "Uhhh..."

"Yes?" He glided toward me. "Has your sharp tongue lost its edge?"

I could only stare. He was a god, yes. But wasn't it Thor's job to look... amazing? Not that he had anything on Barton. Firmly, I corralled my thoughts. "Just," I hesitated, "surprised to see you here this early."

Loki continued to smirk. "I brought you a change of clothes," he said, waving his left hand through the air. A shopping bag appeared, and he held it out to me.

I gave him a wary look.

"There's not a bomb inside," he said wearily. "Take the clothes. I'll be back in a few minutes." Loki thrust the bag into my hand and vanished on the stop.

I wanted to stomp my foot in anger. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum like a little kid. That man! God! Thing! He was worse than impossible. He was the absolute LIMIT.

After glaring at the door for several moments, I tossed the bag on the bed and stared at the contents that had tumbled onto the blanket that Loki had conjured for me last night: a pale green sundress with a halter strap and slightly darker flower print lay before me. I glanced at the logo on the bag, which said "Nordstrom" in bold letters.

"He's a god and he can't afford to buy me designer clothes," I mumbled. "Even SHIELD gave me _that_ courtesy."

With a reluctant sigh, I slipped into the dress and matching shoes. There was a full-length mirror standing in one corner. Resenting my own curiosity, I stepped across the room to stand in front of it. Blinking at my reflection, I wondered how he had guessed my size so exactly. I looked... good. Twitching the hem of the dress, I peered at my reflection again. The man barely knew me. The way the color of the fabric made my eyes stand out was almost unearthly. The entire ensemble was green, of course, but for once, I didn't mind.

His sudden appearances would never cease to frighten me, but his words, and the gentle touch of his hand on my arm, was oddly soothing.

"You look gorgeous, my dear. Truly gorgeous."

Uncertain as to if I should pull away or not, I met his eyes through the mirror. For the third time since this ordeal had begun, their startling green hue was full of kindness. "I am not lying to you, Natasha."

I lightly bit the inside of my cheek. "If you say so," I muttered.

Loki had added a dark leather jacket to his outfit. The cold material brushed against my arms and shoulders and he wrapped his arms around me. The room vanished in a flash of icy wind, and I closed my eyes against the darkness. The force of our travel pushed my back against Loki's chest, much to my discomfort.

We reappeared on a crowded sidewalk outside an even more crowded café. Nobody gave us a second look. Loki wrapped his long, pale fingers around my wrist and led me through the throngs of people. My stomach grumbled at all the wonderful smells wafting out of the kitchen. How long had it been since I ate? Well, I thought as Loki stopped right in front of a harried looking cashier, it looked as if I would be fed momentarily.

"A table for two," the demigod said in a demanding voice.

"Do you have reservations?" The college aged boy gave us a scrupulous look.

"No, but I trust that will not be an issue." Loki's eyes held a mild warning.

The boy obviously didn't notice. "I'm sorry, but we do not have any available seats," he deadpanned. "We apologize for the inconvenience and hope that you will return to Biscuits in the-"

Loki grabbed the scruff of his shirt and hauled him over the counter. "The lady and I would appreciate a seat. _Now_."

The boy swallowed, looking nervously around for help. Nobody noticed. I closed my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but here, and without this crazy magician demigod.

"I – um – Oh, look!" He laughed shakily. "A table just opened up by the window. Great view over there. Ehehe. I'll, um, take you over."

Loki slowly released him. "Thank you..."

The college kid scurried out from behind the counter and led us over to a booth that was partially hidden from the rest of the café by a giant potted plant. He produced two menus from his apron pocket and tossed them onto the table before hurrying back to his station at the cashier.

Loki placed a hand on the back of the booth and nodded for me to slide in. I had been edging toward the seat on the other side of the table, slightly trepidatious at the prospect of sitting next to him, but realized that – given his current frame of mind – it would be much safer to do as he directed.

He sat down after me, and casually picked up one of the menus, scanning the list of breakfast items. I gazed at him out of the corner of my eye as I did the same thing. The scene looked so... _normal_. Loki appeared to be simply a good-looking human out for breakfast with his girlfriend.

I swore mentally. I had to stop thinking like that.

But then he glanced up and caught my eye. The slightly feral light in his gaze was by no means normal.

"Would you prefer gravy and biscuits or pancakes?" he asked calmly. I stared at him in disbelief. "What?" he said innocently, an easy grin on his face.

I was spared from answering his one-word inquiry by a waitress who waltzed up to the table with a notepad and pen in her hand. "Are you two ready to order?" she asked pleasantly.

Loki gave me one more sideways glance and then turned his gaze to the waitress. "Yes. I would like the Crab Cake Eggs Benedict and a glass of pineapple juice."

The waitress appeared to do a mild double-take, but dutifully jotted his request down on her notepad. "And the lady?"

Lost for words, I gaped at her for a moment, and then uttered the phrase which had served me so well on past night-outs with Barton: "The same."

As the waitress turned away dubiously, Loki gave me an impressed look. "You are brave, for a mortal."

I slipped down in the seat a little. What had I gotten myself into?

"You will be pleased to know that this is only our first stop of the day," Loki began, folding his hands on the table. "This is also the last time we will be in New York City for a while, if all goes well." He glanced out the window and frowned a bit. "Our private plane to Tonsberg leaves at one. We will arrive there in the early morning and commence..." He grinned slyly. "My plan."

"Your plan?" I gave him a worried look.

He quirked an eyebrow. "What it entitles does not concern you at the moment. You will simply fulfill the promise you made me."

I scowled at him. "You tricked me into it!"

He spread his arms with that oh-so familiar smirk. "I am the God of Lies and Mischief, dear. Anything less would have been a disgrace to my good name."

I sighed and picked at a scratch in the wooden table. "Where is Tonsberg?"

"Norway."

I met his eyes again. "A straight answer," I said with some surprise. Loki said nothing. His face was a blank mask. Resisting the urge to growl in frustration, I scanned the crowd of people and spotted our waitress weaving her way toward us.

"Oh no," I groaned. "How did she get that so fast?"

"Magic," Loki said lightly, smiling. "I do hope you enjoy the meal."

"Here ya go," the waitress said, setting down two tall glasses of pale yellow liquid. "And the Benedict." Our plates landed with a clatter in front of us. I stared at it with trepidation. "Enjoy." The waitress vanished into the crowd.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Ladies first," he quipped.

I stared with zero enthusiasm at the strange concoction that sat in front of me on the table. The English muffin was the only thing that looked slightly appetizing. Crab cake and an undercooked egg rested on top of the muffin, and the whole thing was drenched in benedict sauce. Yuck.

"Go on," Loki urged. He unrolled a set of silverware from his white napkin and passed the fork to me. "It shouldn't kill you."

I snatched the fork from him with a dark look. He ignored it and settled the napkin primly in his lap. Then he focused his attention on me. "I could wait all day to see you try this," he said, amusement evident in his voice.

Making a face, I reluctantly cut off a small bit of the English muffin from the bottom.

"Don't forget the crab cake," he positively sang.

Glowering at him, I did as he ordered, mashing my fork into the glop and shoveling a large portion into my mouth. I gagged, choking, and then grabbed my napkin, covering my mouth and squeezing my eyes shut. Loki was probably enjoying this. At this point, I didn't care.

I reached across the table for the pineapple juice, desperate for something to wash down the awful gunk. Two drinks, and I managed to swallow. Leaning over the table, I gasped for air, putting both hands to my temples. Then I heard Loki's laughter.

He was absolutely howling with it.

"Shut up!" I shouted. "This isn't funny!"

Loki covered his mouth and nodded, assuring me that it _definitely_ was.

I took another swig of pineapple juice- surprisingly good, actually- and set it down with a thump. "Had your fun?" I asked dryly.

"Very much so," he assured me, taking up another fork and neatly cutting into the small tower of repulsive food. I watched him closely as he took the first bite.

He chewed.

For a moment, his face remained absolutely devoid of emotion. Then he blinked, swallowed, nodded, and said quietly, "They make it better on Asgard."

* * *

**Co-Written with Alassiel**

**We had a lot of fun with this chapter, and we hope you all enjoyed it!**


	7. The Hospital Fire: Part 1

We left without paying, which came as no surprise. Displeasure evident on his face, Loki pulled me out of the café and onto the crowded street. For an instant, I thought about calling out for help, but ice and darkness replaced the familiar roads of New York City. We reappeared on the tarmac of some small airport. The skyline in the distance told me we were on the outskirts of the city..  
Two men were standing beside what looked like a Cessna 12-passenger airplane. Loki gave them a nod. I shot him a questioning look out of the corner of my eye. "Our escorts," he said shortly.  
I blinked. Of course: the pilots.  
I wondered briefly how it was that Loki had managed to secure the services of the private plane, but decided against asking and simply examined the Cessna with my practiced eye. It looked nice. Very nice.  
"Citation X," I noticed under my breath. I had taken a similar model on one of my many assassination missions of the past. It brought back bad memories, so I pushed the thought away as we entered the cabin.  
Admittedly, it was a comfortable plane. Everything about it was nice: the leather seats, the clean interior, the smooth ride. Indeed, the only uncomfortable thing was the fact that the person sitting beside me happened to be a cold, calculating, murderous demigod with a sadistic sense of humor.  
...And he never stopped watching me. He did not even go to the trouble of disguising his stare. There was nothing subtle about Loki's scrutiny.  
The latest issue of People magazine was lying unopened in his lap. How ironic, I thought to myself. As if Loki really cared about people in the first place. Let alone the gossipy articles we publish about ourselves.  
Annoyed by the demigod's silent examination, I put aside all fear of Loki for the moment and swiped the magazine off his lap, flipping it open to a random headline that read "Spectacular Celebrity Break-up." I began to scan the article, not interested in the content so much as getting away from Loki's intense stare.  
He did break eye contact, but it was not in the manner that I would have preferred. Instead, he leaned in closer and read over my shoulder.  
I slapped the magazine closed and, turning as far as I reasonably could, stared out the window.  
"Do I offend you?"  
I gripped the edge of my seat tightly and frowned, refusing to answer, or even look him in the eye. Such an obvious question did not deserve my acknowledgement.  
"Why?"  
Was he truly unaware of the cause of his offensiveness? He was the reason Hawkeye was dead. He had stolen me away and subjected me to the most horrid psychological torment that he claimed was merely a game. And he called me his 'pawn.' Was that not enough cause for hate?  
I sighed, slumping down into the seat and closing my eyes. Loki said nothing more, and I began to feel sleepy. I had not gotten much rest the night before, and what rest I had gotten had been dampened by that heinous vision Loki had brought upon me.

_In the semi-darkness of the hospital room, my eyes flew open. The drug had worn off, finally. I sat up slowly, blinking at the faint green glow of the digital clock. "Two a.m," I whispered, pulling the I.V. out of my arm. "Ten minutes until I meet that contact."_  
_I swung my legs off the bed and set them gingerly down. My hand ached faintly; the last of my sprain making sure I would never forget it. How could I? It wasn't often I purposely injured myself. In fact, it was almost never. But this job, the hospital job, had been insane from the beginning._  
_Padding across the small, private room I was ensconced in, I opened the door a crack. There was nobody in the hall. Making sure my breathing remained steady and quiet, I made my way down the corridor. Fluorescent lights scared away the shadows- all but the ones in my heart. It was only for the substantial pay that I had accepted this job._  
_Some anonymous millionaire was displeased with his associate. The first assassin, now dead, had only succeeded in wounding the target. They contacted me. Whoever was behind this, he was wanted the target good and dead. Quickly. The minute I had accepted, two men appeared on either side of me. I had fought, but sheer muscle mass won out against all my tricks. They had pinned me down and jerked my arm._  
_I rubbed the bandage around my wrist as the memory triggered more pain. According to the thugs, the quickest way into the hospital where the target was being was treated was to become the patient. A new set of fake identities, a large mansion whose owners were absent, and I was on the fast track to St. Judes Hospital. My only instruction, annoyingly, had been to wait for further instruction. And now, two days later, a note had come on the inside of the napkin beside my noon meal of gruel._  
"_2:10 am. 1st floor woman's"_  
_That was all._  
_An elevator pinged to my right, making me jump. A nurse stepped out, giving me a quizzical look. "Everything alright, miss?" she asked, frizzy hair falling out of its bun._  
"_Fine," I answered, plastering on a smile. "Just stretching my legs."_  
"_At two in the morning?"_  
"_Couldn't sleep." I kept the smile up. With any luck at all, the nurse would be the trusting, sunshine-and-butterflies type._  
_Her pause felt as long as the plane ride from Moscow to New York City. Surely she could hear my heart hammering. I couldn't get caught, not now. I would end up dead, just like the assassin before me. They had shown me his remains._  
"_Don't be up too long," the nurse said cheerily._  
_I didn't bother watching her go. She had not been suspicious. If questioned at a later date, she probably wouldn't even remember me. Breaking into a light jog, I slipped between the elevator doors just before they closed. It was empty. I punched the button for the first floor and leaned back against the wall for a moment as the contraption shook and began to drop. My room had been on the third floor, so it would only take a second-_  
_A backpack in the corner caught my eye. Why had nobody claimed it for lost and found? Had it been the nurse's?_  
_Moving quickly, I knelt down and opened the bag. A set of black clothes rested underneath a few yards of rope and a handful of safety pins. Confused, I zipped it up again as the elevator shuddered to a stop. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and strode confidently out the door. If you acted like you belonged there, people tended to believe it. The graveyard receptionist didn't even look up, immersed as he was in Facebook. I covered the ground to the nearest woman's bathroom in long strides. The door swung open with a light push. Nobody was in there. I walked into the farthest stall from the door and latched the door behind me. I was here. All I could do was trust that someone would show up in the next few minutes. If they didn't... Well, I was being discharged tomorrow anyways._  
_With nothing better to do, I opened the bag again. Out came the coil of rope and safety pins. Further inspection revealed the dark garments to be my own. The jumpsuit I favored for these types of missions. Shaking my head, I quickly shed the dreadful hospital gown and shimmied into the leather. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. Something familiar. With all the secrecy, any semblance of control was welcome. I opened my eyes: A sink was running._  
_My heart rate jumped again. How had I not noticed the door opening?_  
"_Miss Romanoff, coming out of that stall today would be appreciated." The deep voice, heavy on the Australian accent, grated against my nerves._  
"_You've been here all of three seconds," I snapped, stepping out with the gown in one hand and the backpack in the other._  
"_Too long." My contact was very tall, very blonde, and very tan. Bright blue eyes fairly snapped with intelligence. He was conspicuous._  
"_Tell me what I need to know," I ordered._  
"_Flush that first." He nodded the wadded hospital gown. I did so with jerky movements. "Good girl."_  
_I swore at him, which only seemed to amuse him._  
"_Now now," he chided. "Is that any way to speak to the man that will give you the instruments you need to gain almost six million dollars?"_  
"_What are we doing standing around then?" I growled. "I thought you hated waiting?"_  
_For a full twenty seconds, we shot daggers at each other. He looked down first. "Here," he said tersely, holding out both hands. In one, there was plain military grade knife. In the other, a simple silver lighter._  
"_Raid a hobo?" I asked snidely._  
_Apparently, my contact was through with the games. "Stab the boy, or burn the hospital. Your choice." He set them on the porcelain sink with a slip of paper and left. I grabbed the paper the instant the door swung shut behind him._  
_5th floor. Private ward 3._  
_Again, simple instructions. My target was there, waiting in peaceful slumber, no doubt._  
_I gazed at the two weapons. The knife would be simple, clean, and quick. But the lighter... Memories of the first assassin's twisted and charred body came to mind. My employer seemed to enjoy making a statement. A massive fire would certainly provide that. Not to mention the irony, whether I survived or not. I picked up the silver lighter and tucked it into my pocket. The last five minutes of the target's life had begun._  
_I grabbed the nearly empty backpack and walked out the door. Sneaking out would have drawn attention. As it was, the receptionist still didn't look up. I almost felt bad for the man's ignorance and incompetence. Maybe he would survive. Maybe not._  
_The elevator rose quickly and smoothly to the top level of the hospital wing. I stepped out and paused. Contrary to the lower, windowless halls, the 5th floor was bright and airy. Well, bright in the sense that the lights of Los Angeles gave it a neon glow. A doctor stepped out of a room at the end, frowning down at his clipboard. I turned left and tried the handle for the first room. Locked. Running carefully to keep my footsteps quiet, I moved down the hall. A crease in the carpet, the first in a string of bad luck, caught my toe, causing me to stumble. The doctor stopped and looked up._  
"_Hey, you aren't supposed to be here!" he whisper-shouted. "You don't have a pass."_  
_There was no need for secrecy anymore. I needed to eliminate the doctor before he could alert security. With long, ground covering strides, I ran at him. Looking startled, he backed up, but it was too late. The backpack fell off my shoulder, and I reached inside for the rope. Instead, my hand closed around a safety pin. I was on top of him; too late to change. I whipped out the pin as I knocked him down. A quick, deep stab to his jugular silenced his surprised cry. I left the safety pin in his throat to keep the blood from draining out. No sense in making a mess. The doctor's eyes were wide and locked on my own as I kneeled on his chest. He choked and weakly flailed his hands. Grimacing, I pushed the pin deeper. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. I jerked my hand, puncturing his windpipe. Within seconds, he was dead._  
"_A necessary death," I whispered to myself._  
_For an instant, I considered moving the body. But no, the hospital would be on fire momentarily. There would be bigger problems for the rescuers to worry about. The doctor would be just another corpse._  
_I rose from his still body and backed down the hall. Room 7, Room 5, Room 3. My target's room. I took a deep breath and held it, trying to the door. Locked. Unsurprised, I reached for another safety pin. While a bobby pin would have worked better, it wouldn't be hard to pop the latch. Correction. Shouldn't be hard. I bit my lip and jiggled the stubborn lock. It only took a minute of trying to frustrate me. I had to act fast. Suddenly, I remembered the doctor. Without wasting a second, I sprinted back to the man and grabbed the lanyard around his neck. Keys. Almost a dozen of them. Swiftly rising, I returned to the door and began shoving keys into the lock. It took several long, tense seconds, but the __seventh key I tried clicked into place. I caught my breath. Leaving the key in, I pulled the rope and lighter out of the bag and carefully set it by the doorframe. For approximately twenty seconds, I held my breath, listening to the room and planning every step I would make once I opened the door. I didn't know the room's layout, which was a huge disadvantage, and it would be dark. Deciding on a pattern to follow, I let the door swing slowly open._  
_A soft, steady snore became evident. Like I had suspected, there was almost no light. I remained still. A minute later, when my eyes had adjusted, I stepped softly inside. A lump on the bed near the window rose and fell gently, but didn't seem to wake up. I crossed the room in three long steps, uncoiling the rope._  
_A teenager. My heart jumped as his face came into focus. A teenager was the target. My hands acted of their own accord, even as my mind's eye replayed the innocent girl from Bangkok, blood running down her face. I carefully tied the rope to the bedframe, double checking that the knots were tight. I paused looking down at the boy's peaceful face. Curly brown hair framed soft features. His lips parted slightly, and he moved to roll over. I grabbed his hand and twisted the rope around it. He jerked, but before he could cry out, I shoved the excess rope into his mouth. The boy gagged on it. Working quickly, I ripped off a section of the cheap blanket and replaced the rope. It didn't take much longer to tie his other hand up. With the target strung up like a turkey for plucking, I took a step back. No sound came from the hall: Our quick scuffle hadn't alerted anyone to the danger._  
_A flick of my thumb, and a small, wavering flame appeared at the top of the lighter. The boy's eyes widened._  
"_Nothing against you," I said softly, lowering the lighter. "I'm just doing my job."_  
_I held the lighter against the blanket near the foot of the bed until the fire caught._  
"_Mhhh! Mrrrhmmm!" The boy struggled wildly, feet trying to kick out the flames. I ignored him as the fire leapt higher, casting the room in a red-orange light. The frilly, distasteful curtains joined the bonfire with only a touch of the lighter._  
_With a fake composure that had served me well over the years, I strode out of the room without a second glance at the boy and his muffled shouts. The bed creaked, and an acid smell filled the air as it began to melt._  
_Swiftly, I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it, and locked the boy inside. His cries could no longer be heard. I glanced up and down the hall, but saw no one. I let out a deep breath. My mission had succeeded. I still had three safety pins and the lighter to make my escape with. A weird giddiness mixed with pyromaniacy came over me. The hospital was going to burn anyways. Why not help speed the process along? I walked over to one of those horrible fake plants and held the lighter to a leaf. The silk and plastic leaf flared up within seconds, consuming the rest of the plant._  
"_Hah. Serves you right," I muttered. Shaking my head at my own strangeness, I ran for the stairs._  
_I made it down two flights before the fire alarm started to blare. Almost instantly, people poured into the stairs. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the lighter I held clenched in my fist. My breathing quickened as people began to press in on me. Surely, somebody would notice. They had too. A nurse jostled me, the same one from before. Our eyes met, and my heart fell. It seemed as if I would have to fight my way down the remaining flights of stairs and out of the hospital._  
"_Get out, fast," she mouthed, then plunged ahead._  
_Not pausing to wonder, I thundered down another flight of steps before the world shuddered._

My eyes flew open as the plane shook. The nose angled downward, giving my stomach a lurch, before leveling again.

"Turbulence," Loki's cold breath whispered in my ear. "Go to sleep. I was enjoying watching you squirm under the torture of your past..."

"Get away from me," I snarled, standing up. The plane trembled, and I stumbled over his feet. Loki, ever helpful, caught me as I fell across his lap. I struggled to regain my feet, but he held me down.

He leaned over, mouth hovering by my ear again. For endless seconds, I listened to and felt him breath in and out.

"...Careful."

Loki released me. I shot up and glared at him. As if nothing had happened, the exasperating god picked up the People magazine off the armrest and flipped it open to the middle. He began to read the article- "Prince Charles Climbs Wall for Queen's Jubilee."

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel  
**

**Sorry for the delay in posting this, everyone! I've been out of town a lot... Anyways, you are all amazing and we love your continued support! This chapter was so long, we split it into two parts. Well, actually, we were halfway done with writing it and realized it was already going to be our longest chapter, hence the awkward break XD The next part will be up soon!**

**What's everyone looking forward to in the Olympics?**

**(Lady of the Stables people: I am really really sorry about not getting a chapter up... I have a plan, but the words just aren't flowing for that story. I'm really really really really sorry D:)  
**


	8. The Hospital Fire: Part 2

I turned away from the strange demigod and toward the small fridge tucked in a corner. Vaguely, I wondered what kind of drinks Loki kept in his private plane.

"It isn't mine," came his suave voice. "This wonderful Midgardian creation belongs to one Tony Stark."

Horrified, I spun back to him. "You stole a jet from _Stark_? How incredibly stupid are you?"

Loki smirked. "He doesn't know I stole it."

"Obviously, or he'd be chasing after us in his Iron Man suit!" I snapped. Loki's smirk faded. It appeared he hadn't thought of that. Exasperated, I flung open the door of the fridge to see what kind of drinks Stark kept. Unsurprisingly, it was all alcohol. Looking closer, however, I discovered a half-empty bottle of coconut water. Pepper's, I was sure.

I reached for the coconut water with one hand, but stopped in mid-reach. Even being awake felt like I was trapped in another nightmare. ...I needed vodka.

I grabbed an entire bottle of the stuff and uncorked it, downing at least three swallows before returning my attention to Loki. He was watching me, and looked mildly amused.

"Want some?" I offered snidely, holding out the bottle.

"I will have to refuse your generous offer," he replied. "I have no intention of putting that vile poison into my body."

I shrugged, "Suit yourself," and took two more gulps before slumping into the seat farthest from Loki. Unfortunately, this was also a rear-facing seat, so I had an uninhibited view of the demigod. Loki was sitting in the seat closest to the aisle, and I saw that he had casually crossed his long legs. He had returned to reading his article, and his eyes were now downcast. Without that piercing stare fixated on me, I felt freer to examine the demigod without fear of being caught. His long lashes cast slight shadows on his high-set cheekbones, and while his face was pale, it was by no means unattractive. Long fingers delicately supported the magazine. I stared at them in a stupor until they began to bend and morph into strange shapes. Suddenly, I remembered why I didn't drink a lot of vodka at once. Leaning back, I closed my eyes. I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness again and panicked. No. I did not want to return the nightmare: I did not want to relive the torturous night of my life again.

It was too late.

_As doctors and patients alike swarmed onto the staircases, I found myself shoved out of the way of a wheelchair and onto the third floor. Pausing to catch my breath, I leaned against a door._

"_Ouch!" I yelped, jumping away seconds later. The handle was painfully hot. How had the fire gotten this far so fast? Now that I was listening for it, I could hear the crackle of flames. …And screams. Shouts, cries. A child. The sound dredged deep into my soul, bringing forth a maternal instinct that I had not known I possessed. I twisted the handle and pushed, but the door didn't open. Desperately, I shoved my shoulder into the wood to open it, despite the burning pain in my hand. It would not budge. The pain in my hand forced me to let go. Blood oozed from several spots on the circular burn. Shuddering, I clenched my hand into a fist and backed away from the door. The screams crescendoed, then faded away in the snapping of the fire. A small whimper escaped my throat. The child's death was my fault. Heart choking, I turned away from the door and back to the staircase. It was still clogged with people, with no way for me to join back into the flow. No other option presented itself but to transverse the hall and see if there was an emergency exit out one of the windows at the far end. Steeling myself, I began to walk. As soon as I took the first step, a loud crash came from halfway down the hall. An arm, blackened and skin peeling off, burst through the wooden door, causing sparks and splinters to fly. It groped for the handle, fingers brushing against the metal before convulsing violently and falling limp. None of my worst nightmares compared to this. Smoke filled the hall as I stood in shock. At least it had not been a child's arm… But was that death any worse? One innocent adult, or one innocent child?_

_Slowly coming back to my wits, I began to move again. Each room I passed held new terrors. Intermingled cries of two young voices drifted out of one. Heat pressed down on me, drenching my limbs in sweat. I began to cough from the smoke. I had to move faster. As I ran by another room, I saw the handle twist. I flashed past just as the door flew open and a male body fell into the hallway with a loud cry. I didn't stop to see how badly he was burned, nor did I look behind me as I ran through the smoky haze, the hot air searing my lungs as I panted._

_There – there was a window!_

_Growing ever more desperate as each breath became more labored, I stumbled against the warm pane. No fire escape. Cursing my bad luck, I ran to the other side of the hall. When I peered downwards, I couldn't even cry out with relief. A quick test of the lock proved that the fire was near enough to heat it up as it had the door handle. Reaching for the lighter- the only thing on my person that could possibly be strong enough to break the glass, I glanced behind me. A woman stumbled out of the thick smoky haze, hacking and moaning. Her disfigured features could not hide her heavily swollen belly. Our eyes met. Her body convulsed, and her blackened hands scrabbled at her stomach. She moaned once more._

"_P-please," she coughed. "My b-baby…" The woman fell on her side. "Please…"_

_I frantically looked between the window and the woman. There was no choice to be made, however. I had to help the woman and her coming child._

_The window shattered. Glass shards buried into my side and shoulder as it flew across the room. I looked down at the fire escape. I could see flames licking at the rungs above me, edging down faster than I would have thought possible. There was no way that I could rescue the woman before the flames reached us. My decision changed in an instant._

"_I'm sorry," I whispered, then swung out onto the metal grating._

_Her wails followed me as I scrambled down the ladder. I would have shed tears, but the heat seemed to have sapped my body of every last ounce of water. The slightly warm, metal rungs stung the burn on my hand, and the puss that oozed from the wound made my grip sticky and painful. Each time I removed my hand from a bar, it was as if part of my skin peeled off and remained on the fire escape._

_By the time I reached the bottom, I was already somewhat less than conscious. Lurching forward, I ran—more staggering than running—until the hospital was a red glow in the night skyline. _

_Finding a back alleyway, I collapsed on my face, too exhausted to care where I was or who might be lurking. With any luck at all, they would consider me dead. I certainly felt as if I was. The last sensation I was aware of was the burn on my hand throbbing incessantly._

Unlike my previous awakenings, I drifted slowly out of the nightmare. The dark pavement lingered behind my eyelids for what felt like hours before I opened my eyes. My thoughts turned instantly to my right hand. With a finger, I traced the faint semi-circular scar across my palm, causing the skin to tingle. The horror of that night was imbedded into my skin. While my employer considered it to be a smashing success, it was forever a failure to me.

When I looked up, I found myself staring directly into a pair of luminous green eyes, so close I caught my breath and jerked back several inches, flattening myself into the seat. With an angry sigh, I tried to compose myself, brushing the tears from my face and glaring back at the demigod. "What," I hissed, "do you want?"

The hint of a frown creased Loki's forehead, and he reached out to brush my face in a comforting way as he had done in the past. I slapped his hand away, and he patiently withdrew it, shaking his head at me. "Bad dreams?" he asked, in a way that I considered almost mocking. Of course I was having bad dreams!

I did not flatter him with a reply, and he moved back to his seat after several long seconds. For the next two hours, the cabin remained silent. Loki appeared to be absorbed in that stupid magazine again, while I was lost in my morbid thoughts. A light blinked on overhead and the scratchy voice of the pilot informed us that we would begin our descent shortly.

I looked out the window and was surprised to see that it was completely dark outside. My dreams must have lasted several hours, and the time change was apparently greater than I thought.

"Come, Natasha. Sit next to me," Loki said.

"I don't want to," I replied flatly.

Loki switched to a different tactic. "You will not grace me with your intelligence for the next ten minutes?"

Grumbling to myself as I rose, I made my way over to the window seat next to him, disgusted that I had even listened to him. Loki smiled, almost sweetly.

"Thank you."

I glowered at him.

Loki was silent for a minute before opening up his mouth to release the silver tongue once more. "Have you been reflecting on these dreams, Natasha?"

"They're the same as being there," I said, crossing my arms and looking out the window.

"As I intended. Their purpose is to relieve you of the burden of your past so that you can live a happier life under my rule. It is a gift. Not a punishment, even though it might seem that way. I am not as heartless as my brother made me out to be."

I avoided his hypnotic gaze. His words were already dragging me under their deadly influence.

"Letting go of such tragedies as the pregnant woman will only increase your substantial power. Accept that you are no longer free. Submit to me, and there will be no limit to your strength." I felt the demigod's heat as he leaned over. The edge of his leather jacket brushed against my shoulder. "Trust me," he whispered. "Have I not proven that I will look after you? What evidence have I given that I desire to kill or harm you? There is none." He paused. "I care about the welfare of my strongest servant," he murmured as his lips brushed across the top of my ear.

I felt my cheeks flush. Had he - had he really just _kissed me?_

For a moment, I paused to consider the ramifications of this, and then automatically pulled away, narrowing my eyes and flattening my mouth in a clear expression of either discomfort or anger. In my case, it was both. His gentle touch brought back memories of Barton, and I could not bear to remember.

Loki, thankfully, leaned away from me. I sneaked a look out of the corner of my eye at him. The demigod sat relaxed in his seat, as if nothing had happened. I returned my gaze to the window, silent as the plane circled and landed. As soon as we stopped rolling forward, Loki stood gracefully.

"Welcome to Tonsberg," he declared. "Welcome to the beginning of the end of the world... as you humans know it."

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**I hope we didn't creep you out too badly - we thought it was important to underscore Natasha's brutal past in a tangible way.**

**The next chapter will be less violent, promise! This is probably our shortest chapter ever, but it was still too long to put into one entry...**

**Anywho, thank you for reading! We love you guys! :D**


	9. Tonsberg

The streets were strangely empty, and Tonsberg was a small, half-modern town, meaning that at least fifty percent of the buildings looked like they had come from the pages of some book on ancient history. It was an odd combination of restoration and innovation, and may have looked unimposing and quaint in the daylight, but it was dark, and all of the signs—shop signs, street signs, and advertisements—were in Norwegian. I doubted I could easily find my way anywhere. Probably not even to a bathroom. I could speak several languages, but Bokmål was not one of them.

Loki glanced up the street with his large, probing eyes, as if he were searching for someone in the empty road, and then turned his gaze back to me, looking more serious than on previous excursions. He had seemed to take some pleasure in his evenly matched battle with Tony Stark, and when we had gone to Biscuits, well, that had been all fun and games to the demigod. But now...

"You may walk around town. Find something to eat. Locate a knick-knacks store. Go shopping for Norwegian apparel." He shrugged one shoulder and began to walk down the street without me. "Behave yourself. I'll be back here in two hours. Please be on time. I've noticed that mortals have a habit of arriving late for everything."

"Wait!" I ran after him and grabbed his sleeve. He stopped walking and turned to face me, looking a little irked. "Where are you going?"

His pupils flared slightly, but his voice remained as calm and undisturbed as ever. "You will not come." Those were his only words.

So he was leaving me alone in the dark in a strange town in a foreign country that did not speak my native tongue. I had been in more frightening situations, but I still instinctively clung to that which was familiar. To my extreme annoyance, that one familiar thing was Loki.

I did not let go of his arm. "Where are you going?" I repeated, lowering my voice.

Loki forcefully removed my hand from his jacket and hissed at me like a riled cobra. "That is none of your concern. I conceal my doings from you for your own safety. This is one mission upon which you will not be welcome. Stay hidden or act like you belong here. I care only that you are out of the way."

Now angry as well as fearful, I moved to block his path and glared up at him in the lamplight. "Take me with you! ...Please," I added. Some negative emotion other than irritation must have come through in my voice or my look, or perhaps Loki simply sensed my fear, because he paused, as if sizing me up.

I shivered, and not from the cold: Loki had provided a jacket and leggings for me so that I would not freeze to death in my dress.

After a moment of contemplation, Loki said, his voice much softer, "Next time, perhaps."

Then he was gone, slinking through the shadows like a wary wildcat.

I cursed to myself, clenching my fists as I stared after him. How could I let him walk away from me like that? I was tired from the long hours of alternately dreaming and weeping in the private jet on the flight to Tonsberg, but my body instinctively shifted into a more alert and ready stance. For days now I had been reliving the wickedness of my past missions, adjusting to my newfound strength, and trying to outwit a demigod who was, at best, _playing_ with my mind and abilities.

I was the Black Widow... and it was time to reclaim that identity. I would find out what this plan of Loki's was, and why he was hiding it from me.

Barton had once compared me to a panther: swift, lean, and agile; a predator who lived for the hunt. I would certainly fit that description tonight.

Letting the adrenaline gush through my body, I reveled in the electric surge of empowerment it always brought and sprinted silently toward a ladder that was conveniently leaning up against one of the nearer shops. Several buckets of paint sat on the ground, but since not a soul was near, I paid them no heed.

That proved to be a grave mistake. The building was still wet, apparently, and some of the paint had splotched on the ladder. I ended up with pale blue paint smeared across my hands and the bottoms of my boots. Growling to myself in frustration, I swiped some hair out of my face—accidentally smudging the paint across my cheek as I did so—and scurried up the rest of the ladder rungs. Once on the roof, I traversed the rough tiles, sometimes balancing on all fours and trying to make as little noise as possible, though inwardly I was cursing my idiotic dress. At least it was not floor-length, or I would have had to make some hasty modifications. I hopped lightly from that roof to the next one. Once I was crouched on the flat plane, I peered silently over the edge, hoping to see Loki striding down the road.

Of course not. I couldn't see him anywhere.

I paused for a moment, thinking. Where would he most likely be? In a rare moment of luck, I hit upon the correct answer: This was some sort of meeting, I had no doubt, though of what nature I could not say. It could be a meeting with the leaders of Norway, or perhaps even (though extremely unlikely) an international affair of some sort. Whatever it was, either they or Loki did not want to attract attention. Why else would they choose to convene in an obscure little town like Tonsberg? And yet if this was an official meeting between governments, would they not use a government building? With that in mind, I altered course and began heading toward the largest structure I could see on the dimly lit horizon. My trek took me through alleyways and down main roads, whichever way was quickest. Occasionally I kept to the rooftops.

In no time at all, it seemed, I reached the building that had snagged my attention. Though my ability to read Norwegian had not improved in the last five minutes, and I could not, therefore, read the title that graced the structure, I was fairly sure I had come to the right place.

The large brick building rose up before me, and I smiled. Only three windows were lit on this side. That would narrow down my search. Looking up, I reached for the drainpipe. Ah, yes. This would serve my purpose.

Mentally making a map of which rooms were lit and which were not, I began to scale the vertical plane, keeping my boots pressed flat against the bricks and holding one hand to the drainpipe and one to the wall (the bricks stood out in slight bas-relief, which helped me greatly).

When I reached the first lighted window, I passed it by, marking the spot on my mental map, and reached out for the sill of the one belonging to the room above it: this one was dark. I did not want to make an entrance in an obvious and dangerous way. Entering through an empty room would better mask my presence in the building, at least at first.

Still gripping the drainpipe, I put one foot on the window ledge and grasped the top of the frame with my free hand. Once I released the pipe, I turned my complete focus to the window itself. I could not simply pick the lock, as the lock was on the inside, but neither did I desire to smash the glass. The thought then occurred to me that perhaps the lock on the window was rigged to an alarm system. In that case, I would have to be very careful. Either way I was taking a risk.

Gritting my teeth, I reached for the screen on the outside of the window and began to pry it off the sill. That part was easy enough. Once the screen was removed, I let it lean on the window ledge and went to work on the actual window. Fortunately, it was one of those types that slid sideways when opened, making my task considerably easier: I had done this before on other jobs, but never with my bare hands. I had no tools, but I had come too far to go back for anything now.

Cursing my stupidity, I worked at the window for a good five minutes before the seal finally cracked under my persistent fingers. I knew exactly where to apply pressure, which worked to my advantage. The pane shivered, and when I pushed, the window slid roughly to the side.

Pleased with myself, I balanced on the sill for a moment before pushing aside the blinds and entering the dark room. It took only a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. As I had thought, there was nobody inside—they would have heard me long before I broke in—and the door leading out of the room was shut tightly.

I slunk across the room and pressed my ear against the crack in the door, listening. Silence. There was nothing to be heard but electricity humming through the walls of the building.

Wishing in vain for a pistol or some other familiar weapon, I turned the handle and slowly opened the door, glancing around outside before stepping into the dimly lit hallway. There was no one in sight. This might be easier than I had thought.

Barely breathing, I padded down the hall, glancing up at the ceiling as I did. There were crossbeams that ran along it, but they were not frequent enough for me to safely use as supports.

Returning my gaze to the corner that lay just before me, I continued my silent march toward the stairs... and the lighted room.

The thick carpet beneath my feet muffled what little sound my footfalls made. The building seemed to be empty – the air grew cold and no sounds reached my ears. I descended the stairs and stopped outside the door, barely breathing. As I pressed my ear against the door, I heard the faint murmur of voices.

Of course, the words were in Norwegian, but by the tone of voice, I could tell whoever was speaking was nervous. Something told me Loki was in here, doing whatever he didn't want me to see. Taking a half step back, I frowned at the dark wood. The male voice rose, then fell silent. Loki's cool tones reached my ears, sounding oddly fluid in the ancient language. The other voice said something rapidly, and Loki responded. A note of panic entered the man's voice, heightening in intensity. I heard something fall with a crash. Loki said a single word, his voice as cold and empty as the town we were in. The other voice began to babble, but was suddenly cut short.

I pulled back from the door, eyes wide. Had Loki just killed whoever was in there? I leaned against the wall. What was he doing? How did this involve taking over the world?

The door flew open and slammed into the wall. I caught my breath and flinched, shrinking further into the shadows. Loki came storming out and marched down the hall. To my complete and utter surprise, he didn't swing around and blast me with the glowing staff that now swung at his side.

For long, torturous seconds, I held my breath as the demigod made his way down the lavishly decorated hall. As soon as he whirled out of sight around a corner, I took a deep breath and edged into the room he had exited. There was no blood. The blonde man Loki had attacked lay in a corner of the room, as if he had curled up there for a nap after a long, hard day at work. Quickly, I checked his pulse, but he was dead and cold.

Surprised, I touched his skin again. Yes, he was definitely cold. How had Loki done that? I knew from experience that bodies retained their heat for almost two hours. This had occurred within a matter of minutes.

I backed away from the body, feeling my eyebrows crease. Loki's unmasked brutality surprised me... although it shouldn't have. Not after witnessing past cruelties, some of which had been inflicted on myself. Unable to do anything for the unlucky man, I crept down the hall until I passed another room that was obviously inhabited. By the time I had my ear pressed against it, a strange Norwegian voice had already risen into a panicked state. It fell silent, same as the first. However, unlike the previous time, I was not able to get out of the way fast enough. The swinging door caught me in the shoulder and threw me against the wall behind it.

I grunted in pain, grabbing my shoulder and wincing. This, however, was nothing compared to the jolt of fear that zinged through my nervous system as Loki turned quickly around and locked eyes with me. His stare looked unusually bestial in the dim light that spilled from the room, and for one terrifying moment, I wondered whether he would simply kill me where I stood. After several seconds, he began speaking with no noticeable change in demeanor, though his voice was deceptively patient. "Hm, Natasha. Why am I not surprised to see you, even after I gave you express orders not to come?" Loki took one slinking step into the shadows, moving closer. He was now simply a tall, dark shape looming over me. "No matter. You will simply have to learn your place." Before I could react, even with my enhanced reflexes, Loki had thrown me over his shoulder like a potato sack.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, beating on his back with my fists and kicking his stomach. One of his long-fingered hands wrapped around my ankles, restraining them.

"A simple, painless corrective measure." I had the pleasure of noting that he was slightly winded. "You must remember that I am doing this for your own good."

I heard a door creak open, and then I was tossed into a stack of buckets and brooms. "Loki!" I shouted as the door slammed shut. Lunging for the handle, I twisted it to no avail. Neither, I soon found, would my ability to walk through walls avail me. I was unsure of what Loki had done to neutralize my superhuman qualities, but that power, at least, was useless from within my makeshift prison. Cursing him and his arrogance, I blindly searched for a light switch. There was no such luck. With a disgusted sigh, I rubbed the stinging flesh on my hip where the hard plastic of a bucket had bruised it. I had to get out. Fast. That much was obvious.

I began to explore the closet with my hands, grimacing as my fingertips brushed multiple cobwebs in the corners. Buckets, mops, old spray bottles, two brooms and a broom-handle, some coats hanging on a pole at the very back, and a few folded dust rags on the shelf above my head... nothing that would be of any use to me. Then I came across a hook on the wall that had previously escaped my groping fingers. And on the hook—

A sly smile crept across my face as I felt a ring of keys. I wasn't sure what they were for, but even though the closet would not unlock from the inside, they still might grant me a way of escape.

Running my free hand along the doorframe, I discovered the closet to be rather inexpensively built, just as I had hoped. The hinge was the sort that you might find on a large cupboard door—sturdy, but protruding on the inside. The metal that overlapped the door was flat, and held firmly in place with three nails to each hinge.

Jingling the ring of keys, I found one that I thought was both strong enough and narrow enough to function as an improvised screwdriver. It fit almost perfectly into the head of the first nail on the upper hinge. Holding my breath, I jammed it as far as I could into the groove and twisted, hard. For one agonizing moment, nothing happened.

Then the key snapped clean in half, giving me a large, jagged slice across the palm of my hand. Swearing, I pushed all thoughts of pain aside and tried again with the second key, this time applying less pressure and relying more on gentle twisting and jiggling to loosen the nail. Aha! Finally, the nail began to rock back and forth. Once it was almost halfway out of the drill hole, I used my fingers to pull it out the rest of the way.

Less than ten minutes later, I found myself working on the last nail of the last hinge. The door was creaking slightly, and once the final nail had been pulled, I knew the only thing holding it up was the lock on the handle. Using a slightly narrower key, I pried the metal flaps back – easily done without the nails holding them in place – and turned my attention to the lock. There was a sizeable gap between the wall and the door on either side, which I could feel easily. The lock was stronger than the hinges were, but if I applied the right amount of pressure, I was confident that I could make the door bend outward from the inside. With the hinges gone, that could be done easily enough.

Bracing my hands against the door, I waited for a moment, trying to gauge the exact amount of force that should be applied, and then pushed. The lock broke beneath the strain, and the door sank the last quarter of an inch to rest on the carpeted floor. I wrapped my fingers around both sides as it began to fall, and slowly lowered it to lie flat on the ground in the hallway, leaving bloody handprints on the edges.

Inhaling several deep breaths of the refreshingly clean air – or at least it was clean compared to the stuffy closet – I tucked the keys under my sweater and immediately headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I prowled through the gloomy hallways in what seemed like endless circles, several times examining a promising door only to discover that the room behind it was either deserted or occupied by someone unfamiliar. Whenever I reached a flight of stairs, I went down another floor.

When at last I found Loki again, it was through an uncanny intuition rather than any of the six senses. I neither heard nor saw any signs of life, but paused instinctively beside one of the more dimly lit rooms. This time, I did not push the door open. Instead, I got down on my hands and knees and tried looking _under_ the door. My view was limited, at best: I could see Loki's black leather work boots. He was standing a comfortable distance away, beside what looked like a table. I heard a drawer open, and then the sound of crinkling paper. I guessed that he had withdrawn something and folded it, or maybe stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

Then he crossed the room, disappearing from view.

I quickly got up from my vulnerable position on the floor and retreated to a safe distance before waiting for him to emerge. Several long, tense seconds passed in silence, but Loki did not come out. Somewhere in the back of the room, a handle clicked and turned. I heard a door swing open. There were several light footsteps, and then the sound of the door shutting with a barely perceptible thump.

There must be a room within the room, I realized. Perhaps a bathroom or a private office of some sort? Whatever it happened to be, Loki was no longer in the main room, and if I wanted to investigate, now would be the opportune time.

Slowly stepping toward the door, I placed a hand on the handle and waited for another second. Not a sound. I opened the door and blinked in the light. It was a cold, unfriendly light, glaring down from the fixture in the ceiling and illuminating yet another stone-cold corpse. It failed to surprise me. Averting my gaze, I examined the rest of the room. There were a desk and chair beneath the window, and a filing cabinet in one corner. Several documents lay on the desk.

I walked over and took a closer look.

The first was simply a note typed onto a piece of printer paper. Of course it was in Norwegian, and I was unable to translate.

Below that lay a few pages that looked like government documents. One of them was in English, and read "Classified – Special Handling" across the top. _Subject: Justification for SHIELD to begin research project._ I skimmed the words, my heart thumping. Loki could come back any minute, and should that happen, I had no doubt that I would be in a world of hurt. I could not make sense of the first document, and moved quickly to the second. Again, it looked to be official, but this one was not written in English. Nearly growling aloud in my frustration, I set it aside also and glanced at the last object lying on the desk. It was a folder, and a rather thick one at that.

I reached for the tantalizing packet, certain that answers lay just within my grasp, but something snagged my wrist. Before I could so much as scream, I found myself caught firmly in Loki's grasp. He spun me around to face him, and in a split second we were nose-to-nose. "How?" he hissed, his grasp firm and unyielding. I tried to pull away, but after a moment, Loki blinked and brought one hand up to his face, examining it briefly. Then he frowned and grasped my right wrist again, turning it so that the palm was facing up. The wound from the broken key was still oozing, and both of my hands were smeared with blood.

Without saying a word, I reached my uninjured hand into my sweater pocket and withdrew the ring of bloody, mangled keys. The demigod took it from me and held it up to the light, squinting. Then he gave me a sharp look, sliding the key ring into his own pocket. He asked no questions.

"My business is finished here. Give me your hand."

Relieved, I extended it without hesitation, waiting for him to heal me as usual. Instead, he simply wiped away some of the blood and examined the cut. The mere touch of his probing fingers made the wound throb less, but there were no golden sparks, and the burning in my palm remained.

"I believe I shall let you keep this scar," he said candidly. "Perhaps it will remind you not to meddle in the future." And with that, Loki turned his back to me and stalked toward the door.

Fighting back mixed feelings of anger and anxiety, I hurried after Loki, glancing at the lifeless body lying on the floor. I wondered exactly how high the death toll would be by this time tomorrow…

* * *

**Co-written with Lassie  
**

**Another long delay, sorry. We love your support so much! (We'd also love some constructive criticism... This story is far from perfect, and we'd love to hear how we can improve!)**

**Here's a link for a Three Days Grace song that captures the spirit of Case Red really really really well. It also happens to be my new favorite song XD  
**

**watch?v =VURp1 phPOGs**

**(Youtube, and without the spaces, of course)  
**

**_Lassie - Just a heads-up, I am working on a personal project that requires a lot of time, so I apologize for any delays in updates, as they are likely my fault. ;)  
_**


	10. Insurance

Loki led me out of the large brick building without speaking. I could practically feel the rage steaming off him. That, combined with the persistent throbbing in my hand distracted me so much that when Loki stopped, I ran into him.

"Hey!" I cried. "Give me warning, or something."

Loki ignored me. In fact, he gave no sign that he had heard me at all. He stood in the middle of the dark street, staff planted at his side, staring down the road.

"Uh, Loki?" He didn't so much as twitch. I stepped around him, then jumped back in shock. His face was blue! Loki's harsh red eyes dipped to my own.

"I would suggest you get out of the way, Miss Romanoff. For your own health and welfare."

I was too shell-shocked to speak, but he wrapped his shockingly blue fingers around my upper arm and jerked me to the side. I thought I heard a sizzle, but there was no time to think about it. Seconds later, headlights blinded me as a car turned onto our street. Brakes squealed, and the expensive car slid to a halt with the bumper just touching Loki's tunic—wait… tunic? Yes, Loki was now arrayed in full Asgardian attire. How that had happened, I hadn't a clue. Undoubtedly it had something to do with the demigod's magical abilities.

There was a brief moment of uncanny silence, when I noticed with great alarm that the sleeve of my sweater was smoking, and the material was scorched in the exact shape of Loki's slim hand. No pain reached my skin, which was absorbing the warmth generated from the burnt fabric, but I glanced up at him in abject terror.

Then an enraged man jumped out of the driver's seat and started shouting in Norwegian. Loki lifted his hand, and a wall of blue light shot forth. The man disintegrated into a pile of smoking ash, but the car flew backwards ten feet. I stared in horror at the crumpled hood, my eyes growing even larger as another man stumbled out of the backseat.

He coughed a few times and swore distinctly in English. Then he switched to Norwegian and began to shout as his driver had. Instead of blasting him, Loki strode forward under the light of a streetlamp. The man shut up, his jaw literally dropping.

The demigod cocked a finger at me. "Follow me," Loki ordered. "If you disobey me again, I will knock you out and make you relive Barton's death until Christmas."

Seeing as it was early October, I reluctantly obeyed. Loki strode forward and grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, lifting him a foot off the ground.

"You will take us back to your office, Peter," he said coldly. Peter began to babble, eyes wide and terrified. Loki repeated himself in the local language and set him down. Well, more like _slammed _him down. His hostage cried out and grabbed his ankle before hobbling a few steps backwards. Loki grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him down the street. He commanded something short and sharp in Norwegian. Peter let out a half-moan, half-whimper and began to limp down the street.

"Come," Loki ordered again.

The three of us made an odd group walking through the middle of Tonsberg, but unfortunately, there was nobody to notice. In fact, the town was as strangely empty as it had been when we arrived. Whether this was some spell of Loki's or not, I was unsure. And I was most certainly not about to ask the irritable demigod.

It took about twenty minutes for us to reach the large building that Peter apparently worked at. Loki's skin and eyes and returned to a natural color, much to my relief. He looked dangerous enough without pastel colors scribbled all over his body, like a child's inartistic drawing. Peter limped through the revolving glass door and towards one of two elevators in the elaborately decorated lobby. A security guard lounged in a cheap plastic chair to one side, fast asleep and snoring. We rose to the top floor of the building in silence. Peter stood in a corner, weight on his left foot and eyes glued to Loki. He hardly seemed to notice me as I stood in the opposite corner, arms crossed. Loki leaned against the handrail between us, seemingly at ease with the situation. When the elevator doors slid open, however, he resumed his drill sergeant attitude.

"Innsiden," the demigod snapped, gesturing to a solid oak door on the right, half a dozen paces down the dark hallway.

Peter jumped at Loki's command and scurried to it as fast as he could with his injured ankle. A key from a ring on his belt opened the door and we all entered. Loki planted himself in the middle of the expensive office and stared at Peter, who uneasily made his way to the heavy mahogany desk against the far wall. A wall of windows, much like the penthouse hotel room in New York, revealed the small city and undeveloped, snowy land around it. I shrank back underneath a large painting, trying to be remain unnoticed. There was no telling what kind of horrors Loki had planned for Peter.

For almost five long minutes, Loki stared at Peter, who stared nervously at the floor.

"We will speak in English from now on," Loki announced suddenly, breaking the tense silence. "It will be as much for your comfort as for my pa-" He paused and corrected himself. "As for this woman's."

Loki gestured to me and I rewarded him with the glare of death I had spent years perfecting with Barton. Naturally, the demigod was unaffected by it.

"Men jeg ville heller-"

Loki raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, alright." The short blonde man, Peter Eriksen according the plate on his desk, stood up. "I don't really see why this is necessary. Your companion, as you have already told me, has no need to understand our conversation. You speak my native language fluently, so—"

Loki calmly rested the tip of his spear against Peter's jugular. "You and I both know that you are not Norwegian. You will speak without falsehood to me." Loki drew back the staff, resting the bottom on the ground once more.

Peter, visibly flustered now, wrung his hands. "How did you—oh, deary me... I don't think I want to know." He cast Loki a nervous look. "Um... Nobody was supposed to know that..." Peter began to sweat a little. "You said you needed me for something?" he asked slowly.

"I don't need you," Loki replied coolly. "You are merely a convenience, or shortcut, in my plan."

My ears perked up, even though I kept my gaze locked on Peter. Would Loki finally reveal what this was all about?

Peter stared at Loki, who appeared as statuesque as ever. "Um, well, splendid. How may I assist you then? Would you like to invest in our farming corporation? India's agriculture is a growing market, you know."

I almost laughed at his question. An extremely tall, powerful, dangerous, handsome—no, not handsome—man had just killed his driver and, with one of the most feared assassins in the world, driven him back to his office with promises of death upon noncooperation. Of course we wanted to invest in his… farming thing.

One of Loki's many smirks (this one erring on slightly amused) crossed his features. "I am more interested in the unmentionable side of your business," he said smoothly.

Peter hesitated. "... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered. "Our business is perfectly free of unsavory—"

Loki raised his staff an inch. The end lit up with an unearthly blue light. "Natasha," he said. "Pray do demonstrate the first of the powers I have given to you."

I understood instantly what he meant. As wary of his staff as Peter was, I stepped forward and landed a series of lightning fast punches on his stomach. The poor man instantly doubled over, gasping for breath. Loki settled himself on the edge of Peter's desk and crossed his legs, looking as if Peter had simply bent down to retrieve a dropped pen.

"I am interested in the unmentionable side of your business," Loki repeated. He folded his hands over the middle of his staff, which was balanced across his thighs.

"I- I can't!" stuttered Peter.

Loki gestured subtly with one long pale finger. Reluctantly, I attacked the man again. Something deep inside me cringed with every blow. Loki, unfortunately, had me bound by my promises, and there was no escaping them.

"Okay, okay! Stop!" he gasped, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. "I'll confess! Just stop hurting me!"

"I am not interested in a confession."

Peter stared at Loki. "Then... what?"

"Stop supplying methamphetamine to the British Prime Minister."

It was my turn to stare. This was about meth? What was Loki doing?

Peter's eyes widened. "But—but..." He sighed. "I suppose you'll kill me if I don't?"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "I could, couldn't I? But I won't, never fear. If you do not cooperate, then your vice-president will be more than happy to stop the shipment himself, with or without your approval. I could list over a dozen reasons why it would be impractical to kill you, or a dozen ways to continue without you, but I won't. It is just your unfortunate luck that forcing you to do as I please is the fasted way to my goal."

Peter swallowed hard.

"We will leave you now, and return in the morning. I trust you will not disappoint me," Loki added with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Before he could respond, Loki grabbed my arm and teleported us out of the building. Thankfully, there was no smell of burning nylon.

A peaceful street, lined with simple townhouses, faded into view, sunrise coating the windows in a red glare.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, examining the ordinary looking house in front of us. Loki's apparent lack of order and his continued refusal to explain anything to me was beginning to become more than just an annoyance. It was frustrating to the point of me wishing _pain_ on him.

"Creating insurance," Loki replied, gaze locked on the curtained windows. Through them, I could see the figure of a young girl being shepherded by her mother towards a set of stairs. "Peter will be less inclined to run from his promises if there are loved ones at risk. You have experienced this quite recently yourself, no?"

I felt my eyes widen. "You wouldn't," I whispered. "They're innocent!" The child brought back dark memories of Bangkok.

"It is necessary."

I tried to protest, but Loki had already marched up to the door. With one fist, he punched through the wooden barrier and stepped into the hallway. I heard two high-pitched, female screams, one most definitely a child's, as Loki stepped through the shattered doorframe. It was accompanied by the horrid echoes that filled my mind—memories of the hospital fire.

Without thinking, I hurried through the door after Loki, but he was already standing at the base of the stairs, holding the wailing child by one arm. The mother was lying in a crumpled heap on the rug. And Loki was smiling… It was a look so sadistic, so utterly devoid of compassion, that for a moment, nausea prevailed.

A scream slowly worked its way up my throat, eventually bursting forth in a babbling torrent of sobs and verbal abuse. I ran toward the woman, but Loki held out his free arm to bar my way. "No! NO! How could you?!" I grabbed his arm, trying to shove him out of the way, but in the next instant Loki had me in a headlock.

"I'd rather not be forced to subdue _two_ little children," he hinted. Then he loosened his grasp just enough to let me wriggle out from under his arm. The girl was still holding Loki's hand—not by choice—but was pulling against him, her other fist latched the railing.

Hot, salty tears streamed from my eyes. My emotions were already raw from the dreams… and now this. But this had happened right in front of me. And I had done nothing to stop it. _Coward._

"Hold onto me."

The last thing I wanted to do was touch that monster, but I knew that if I was left behind (should he even do that) the little girl would be worse off than she already was. I did receive some small amount of satisfaction from the realization that he had not simply grabbed my arm as before. It shouldn't have been any consolation to me that I had been allowed to make a decision, but it was.

Loathing my own actions, I grabbed onto his arm with both hands, bracing myself for what I knew would be a cold and swift teleportation.

It was. I barely had a chance to wonder where we were going before the fog began to clear. Once we were standing in the middle of what looked like a commonplace living room in some modern house, Loki let go of the both of us. The child fled to a far corner of the room and curled into a fetal position behind an easy chair in one corner, still sobbing. I stumbled back a few steps, thrown off-balance, as always, by the sudden change of scenery and atmosphere.

With my eyes watering incessantly and the child wailing in the corner, it was a little hard to interpret my surroundings, but I knew we were in an average home, possibly somewhere in the United States. I blinked. Although my vision cleared a little, my confusion did not. For some inexplicable reason, it appeared to be vacant, yet well taken care of.

The memory of the dead woman was still burning in my mind, and when I looked at Loki, I could not hold back a snarl of disgust. The waterworks were over, but I was still seething with anger.

Loki gestured to the sobbing, screeching little girl lying huddled on the floor, and then aimed a very pointed look in my direction. I recoiled. It was plain that he wanted me to silence her, somehow, but I had no experience with children. Wait, check that—I had no _good_ experience with children. I knew how to murder an unwary target without even exerting myself. I knew just how to break into a seven-story apartment complex without arousing so much as a hint of suspicion. I knew exactly how much cyanide it took to kill a large man. But I had no idea how to comfort a weeping child.

Glaring briefly at Loki, I stepped toward the girl, trying my best to look unintimidating. She only squeezed herself closer to the wall, staring at me in absolute terror with the largest pair of doe-brown eyes I had ever seen. I gritted my teeth, and then attempted a smile, which was probably more chilling that reassuring. If I hadn't had a horrible suspicion that Loki would not hesitate to use a more forceful method of silencing his hostage, I would have walked away from the awkward situation.

"Um… come out," I pleaded. "I won't hurt you." Yet how many other innocent children had a slaughtered in my past? I remembered the vicious look on Loki's face as he had struck down the girl's mother, and shuddered. In my younger days, that could have been me. How could I look this child in the eye?

Forcing my thoughts back to the present, I swallowed and scooted closer. "Please come out… Dear." What other terms of endearment could I use? Maybe she was used to a certain pet name?

"Mommy!" the little girl wailed, shrinking back into the corner even further.

Guilt. I felt guilty, and I hadn't even killed the woman. _You could have stopped it… you should have been faster… You could have… You could have… You could have…_ The mental accusations came too fast for comprehension, but certain words in the whirlwind of abuse stood out to me: mercenary; assassin; murderer; monster; killer.

Angrily shoving these thoughts away, I reached out a hand to touch her on the arm. She was shaking violently. I could feel the tremors beneath my fingertips. "Please come out," I repeated, feeling like the world's worst hypocrite. "Please… I promise you'll be safe if you just come out."

But the little waif only cowered behind the chair, staring past me with those wide, frightened eyes. I realized after a moment that she was looking at Loki, and I glanced over my shoulder. He was still standing in the middle of the room, watching silently.

"Leave," I requested tightly. I knew that the girl would not calm down until he did—if she was going to calm down at all. "She is afraid of you."

To my relief, he did not argue. "Very well, then. I am not here," Loki said quietly, fading to nothingness. I did a slight double-take. Had he teleported again?

My keen eyes detected the hint of a shadow on the carpeted floor, where Loki's boots had once stood. No. He was still here, watching me. With that unsettling idea firmly planted in my head, I turned my attention to the girl once again. "Honey?" I tried weakly. "Won't you come out, now?"

The sobs had faded to hiccups, but tears still streamed down her round, childish face. Her eyes were now glued to me. The little thing couldn't have been more than five or six years old. Pale face, brown eyes, and blonde hair. Strawberry blonde. Not quite red, but… close.

With any luck, her mother had been a redhead. My rage had blinded me to any observations about the woman other than her death. Hopefully I looked something like her, even if it was just a vague resemblance. Children gravitated toward the familiar, and if I seemed familiar, it would make my job much easier.

"Darling?" I put my third nickname to the test, quickly followed by a fourth: "Sweetie, everything is okay…" The idea that I was telling a big fat lie failed to bother me. If it worked, never mind the morality. Not that my morals were very good in the first place... But, anything to stop this child's sniffling sobs. "Come here and…" I struggled to express something I desperately hoped resembled motherly affection. "Come here and let me hold you."

To my shock, she shuffled out from behind the chair and crawled right into my lap, reaching her pudgy little hands around my neck. I stiffened for a moment, and then slipped my arms around her, getting to my feet. She seemed unusually light, and I remembered once again that I had the physical capabilities of an Asgardian.

With a world-weary sigh, I walked over to the couch and sat down, cradling her in my lap. She was still crying. How did you get a child to stop crying, anyway? Maybe you were supposed to sing to them? It was worth a try.

I didn't know many lullabies, and the only familiar one was in Russian. Although I didn't have the best singing voice on the planet, and the lyrics were unintelligible to the little English-speaking girl in my arms, she seemed to quiet down after several minutes.

The lullaby I had chosen was rather dark, warning some nameless baby to beware of "the wolf," whatever that was. Eerily ironic, I thought to myself, images of the fallen demigod and his quest for power filling my mind.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the easy chair shift a bit, and the cushions compressed slightly, as if someone had sat down. And I knew that Loki was still listening. Spooked by this thought, I stopped singing. Thankfully, the girl was already fast asleep, probably from pure exhaustion. It was not natural for a little body like hers to endure so much trauma so swiftly. I hated to think of the mental scars the experience would leave on her innocent soul… If she lived long enough, perhaps she would seek revenge on the world as I had, and turn her dark and bloody nightmares into a mirror of my own horrible career. I hoped and prayed that this would not be the case.

"That was impressive."

I flinched, instinctively tightening my grip on the child. She moaned in her sleep.

Loki was now sitting beside me, fully visible, on the couch. Disgusted, I leaned away, glaring at him. "What do you want?" I whispered coldly. "Don't you have more innocent lives to go claim?"

Loki smiled. "Come, now. I saved your life more than once, and I am planning to save the human race from self-annihilation. Does this not erase my lesser misdeeds?"

For a moment, I struggled with my rising temper. Shades of red flashed across my eyes, obscuring my vision for a moment. Then, as suddenly as my anger had risen, it sank steeply into depression. I felt powerless. Defeated. "Leave me alone," I begged, fighting against an onslaught of senseless tears. "I don't want your company."

There was a pause, and then Loki rose from the couch. "There is a bedroom upstairs, and in the bathroom adjoining it, you will find what is necessary to treat the cut on your hand. Then I suggest you retire. Your mortal form requires restoration." He paused. "Perhaps I…" There was a moment of silence as he let his sentence hang unfinished in the air between us. "No matter."

Then he vanished, and this time he left no shadow behind.

I was alone but for the sleeping, broken angel in my arms.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Thank you sooooo much for all your continued support! We love you guys so much! *group hug* That said, we're both getting much busier as school starts up again... Unfortunately, this falls a little lower down on the list than schoolwork and personal projects. However, rest assured that we won't be dropping this story anytime soon :D Constructive criticism is much enjoyed!**


	11. Monsters

The sound of running water was oddly soothing, I decided as I washed the cut on my hand. The wound was shallow, but long, and covered the expanse of my palm. Fortunately, Loki had somehow gotten his hands on antiseptic and a few bandages. There was also a plastic water bottle sitting next to a capsule of ibuprofen to kill the pain. _How thoughtful,_ I muttered sarcastically to myself, taking a swig of water and washing down the pill.

When I was finished tending to myself, I peeked into the adjoining bedroom. The girl was still fast asleep on the quilt, her wavy hair spread out over the decorative pillows. Tear tracks still marred her face.

"Monster," I whispered before I could stop myself. I had played along with Loki's schemes, by force, not by choice. But now he was gone, and he could do nothing to stop me.

_He could do nothing to stop me._ I blocked all other thoughts, letting those words sink in for a moment. What I was about to do would be crazy. Possibly suicidal, if Stark had said anything to Fury (of which I had no doubt), but I could not let Loki bring any more harm to this nameless child.

My mind made up, I quietly exited the bedroom and began to inspect the rest of the upper-class home. Was there a phone? Would Loki be that stupid? Maybe. I wasn't sure.

"Phone… phone…" I muttered, even going so far as to look in the pantry. I dared not set foot outside, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. I didn't even know where I was. But I did happen to have a few helpful phone numbers memorized.

I rummaged through cabinets and rifled through drawers, and as I did, the inevitable question eventually entered my mind: who owned this house, anyway? I found several personal items such as check registers and account statements, and once or twice I fished out a photograph of presumed family members. Finally, something that looked small, cellular, and promising caught my eye. I retrieved it from the depths of the kitchen drawer and smiled triumphantly. Yes! A cell phone. I wasn't really sure whose it was, or even if it was charged.

I flipped it open.

Dead.

With a groan, I ran my free hand through my hair and glanced back at the drawer. It looked like an older model, but where there was a cell phone, there was probably a charger. Fortunately, this happened to be the case.

I quickly plugged it into an outlet and hooked the cell phone to the charger, saying a small prayer for success. To my great relief, a little white bar flashed across the screen, and the words "battery charging" appeared, blinking silently at me.

With that taken care of, I wondered just what to do while I waited. It would probably take about an hour or so to fully charge…

I glanced up at the oven clock and realized with a start that it was already 8:00 in the morning. With any luck, Loki would be gone for some time.

Sighing, I trudged back into the living room and made tracks from there to the hallway. There was a cough directly above my head, and I glanced up. My gaze wandered over the staircase, then over to the railing that bordered the edge of the upstairs floor and, consequently, the ceiling of the downstairs hallway.

My small and unimposing charge was kneeling at the edge of the upper floor, her delicate hands clutching the railing and her big brown eyes watching mine.

I remained completely motionless, feeling oddly cornered, but she reached up to grasp the headpost of the stairwell and slid her hand along the railing, taking the first few steps and then sitting down firmly near the top of the stairs. She put her elbows on her knees and pillowed her chin in her hands, still staring at me with a boldness that I found admirable.

"Are you going to stick me with needles?" she asked quietly in a childish accent, her bottom lip quivering.

I blinked, taken aback by her question. "I… what?"

"Are you going to stick me with needles," she repeated, a slight Norwegian lilt coming through in her words, "an' make me a zombie slave?"

Bewildered, I shook my head. What kind of horrible TV shows did this kid watch, anyway? "No, of course not," I assured her in a soft voice, trying not to let a wry smile show on my face at her question. Yet that was the secret fear of every child—I knew, because I'd been one. Many years ago... a mere breath of a memory... but for some bizarre reason, the trauma I had endured since my more innocent days could not erase the fears that had assaulted me: the monster hiding in the dark, lying in wait just outside the window or lurking about beneath the bed. A monster who would do terrible, unspeakable things to me if ever he caught me unawares. It hadn't been long before this became a dreadful reality for me… just as it was now a reality for Loki's little hostage.

"What about Mummy? Are you gonna bring her back?" A tear glimmered in the corner of her eye.

I froze. What could I say to that such a question? I moved toward the stairs, and she shrank back against the wall, but didn't get up from her crouch on the steps.

"I never took her away from you," I said truthfully, ignoring the spasms of guilt that wracked my heart. "But I promise that she loves you… and she wouldn't want you to worry about her." How lame was that?

Her rosebud lips tightened into a frown, her forehead crinkled, and her cheeks turned red. She was trying not to cry.

Dispensing with all pretenses of telling the truth, which would only produce another fit of hysteria, I launched into a flat-out lie. "I'm your mommy now. She told me to take care of you until she could be with you again." I almost gagged on the words.

The girl blinked slowly and carefully at me with those long lashes, another big tear rolling down her face. "When?"

I hesitated for several painful seconds. "I don't know."

That sparked a sob, and then a steady flow of tears. Oh great. I marched up the stairs and gathered her up in my arms. She didn't struggle against me in the least.

"You'll be okay," I whispered, stroking her hair. Then I repeated with more conviction, "You will." Nothing bad would happen to her as long as I still had a breath in my body. Loki's curse had backfired on him—at least for now. Those terrible reminders of my past only begged and pleaded with me to do something out of the goodness of my heart for once in my life, not pile on more heinous crimes.

Clint's voice echoed in my head for one blessed moment, beautiful words from the past: "_Sometimes it's hard to do 'the right thing,' but then every now 'n again, the truth just up and jumps in your face. Don't ignore your conscience. It's usually smarter than you are."_

And that was why I was still alive. It was only right that I return the favor whenever the opportunity presented itself. In my line of work, even when I went on to become a SHIELD agent, my job usually consisted mostly of killing people. I was an assassin. That was what I had been trained to do.

But Clint had been an assassin as well… Yet something had stopped him from releasing that fatal arrow. Maybe he had seen in me a little of the wounded innocence that I now saw in this defenseless child. Heaven forbid. I let my lips curve into a smile as my eyes grew wet. I missed Clint Barton.

Refusing to let myself dwell on that which was now lost, I gently set the girl down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and walked over to glance at the battery symbol on the cell phone.

12% charged. Good enough for my purposes.

I unplugged it and flipped it open, then paused. What now? Who should I call? After a moment of thought, I punched in a set of numbers, awed by my own decision. Was this really wise? But I was prepared to trust my instincts. I hoped my contact would be as well.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice. I glanced at the girl, who was watching me again, and decided to take this conversation to a more private location. Smiling at her, as if nothing was amiss, I stepped into the walk-in pantry and shut the door behind me.

At that exact moment, I heard a familiar male voice. I shuddered, both with relief and dread as I remembered our last face-to-face. "You have reached the number of Doctor Bruce Banner. Please leave a message, and I will get back to you."

I rolled my eyes. Great. A pre-recorded Dr. Banner. I needed the real Dr. Banner, and I needed him now!

"Hello, Dr. Banner. This is N—"

Then there was a scratchy noise on the other end, and something that sounded slightly like two people arguing in the background. Finally, the real, mellow, honest-to-goodness Bruce Banner greeted me. "Hello?"

"Dr. Banner!" I exclaimed, and then swallowed, trying to calm my nerves.

There was a quick pause, and then the gentle inquiry, "Who is this?"

"Natasha Romanoff. Before you hang up and call Fury, please hear me out, _I beg you_." Begging was not something I did often, or well, and Banner seemed to take me seriously.

"Go on." He didn't seem the slightest bit disgruntled by my call.

I took a deep breath, and then launched into an explanation. "I don't care what Stark told you. Loki kidnapped me. I didn't have a choice."

I waited until Dr. Banner assured me, "I got that."

"And then he tortured Barton—"

"Two agents found Barton's body in the cargo bay right after you disappeared."

"Long story. Just trust me."

With a sigh, Banner said simply, "Okay."

"In short, Loki's planning to take over the world, and part of his plan involves turning me into his personal slave. But… that's not why I called."

"Oh?"

I took another deep breath. "He's holding a little girl hostage. I don't know what her name is, and I don't know what he's planning to do with her, but please, you have to help her." …_And me._ But I couldn't choke out those last words.

"How do I know this isn't a trap?" came his suspicious reply.

I felt my blood pressure rise. "You don't. You have to trust me. Please, Dr. Banner. You don't know what he's done to me… I'm going to go insane. And the girl—"

"Natasha, I think I ought to let Fury handle this." He still sounded wary.

"No! Don't tell him, please. Just come get us. I promise, I won't cause any stress."

"And what if Loki shows up?" asked Banner.

"I don't know. I don't know how long he'll be gone. I don't even know where I am. Can't you trace the connection?"

"…Yeah, I guess I could do that. Can you hold for a moment?"

I inhaled and exhaled very, very slowly. "Okay."

The seconds ticked by. I thought I was going to burst with impatience. And then Banner's calming voice returned. "I've got bad news. You're in Norway."

"Still?" I groaned.

"What?"

"Never mind. Just take a plane," I advised.

"That's not going to be easy. Right now I'm at SHIELD headquarters."

I sighed, feeling just a little bit better. He was talking in future tense, which meant he had decided to come to my rescue. "Make up an excuse for leaving, and then catch a flight over here."

"Long trip."

"I know, but… listen. I'll keep the cell phone with me. Just call me if you need to find out where I am again. I'm going to lose battery power in a minute, so I have to put it back on the charger."

"You're in a house, then?"

"Yes." My patience was running low. "Dr. Banner, this is an emergency."

"I don't do well with emergencies," he reminded me dryly.

I fidgeted, but kept my voice firm and urgent. "Dr. Banner, I have every confidence that you can do this for me. I know you're capable. And I trust you," I added, hoping that would appeal to his manly, protective side. Men liked to be relied upon, right?

When he spoke again, it was with a bit more moxie. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Relieved, I hung up and went to plug the phone back in.

I was just fumbling with the connector when the screaming started.

"No, no! I tried, okay! I tried! What are you doing? Where are we?"

"Daddy?" The little girl's voice cut through Peter's shouting.

"Brita!"

"Daddy!"

I ran into the entry hall, the old cell phone still in my hand. Loki stood halfway up the stairs with the girl, Brita, on his hip. He would have looked like a father except for the glowing staff he held to her neck. Peter had one hand cuffed to the door handle, the other stretched toward his daughter.

"Daddy!" she wailed again.

"What have you done to her?" Peter roared, pulling madly against the cuff. "What have you done to my baby? Where's Caroline?"

I could only stand in horror.

"I told you to stop shipment," Loki said coldly.

"I tried, I tried, I told you! Don't hurt Brita!"

Loki's eyes narrowed. "I will make no promises. However, I will give you a second chance. A small one, but a second chance it is." He nodded to Peter's feet, and a laptop appeared. "Cancel the shipments, and you will not have to bury Brita beside your wife."

Peter blanched. "Caroline... Caroline's... dead?"

"Very," Loki responded calmly. He handed Brita, who was beginning to cry again, down to me. I took her quickly and wrapped her tightly in my arms.

"Shh..." I murmured.

Peter stared at us, eyes red, cheeks blotchy, and tears falling silently from his eyes.

"I suggest you start working," Loki's voice sounded perfectly calm, if only a touch tense. I glanced at him over Brita's head. The slight variance of his suave tone alerted me to the possibility that Peter was not merely a convenience, as he had told us.

Peter slowly sank to his knees. One arm was twisted up behind him, still connected to the door handle. His fingers were shaking as he lifted the lid of the laptop and began to peck away at the keys. Brita whimpered and sniffled in my arms. Loki stood perfectly still on the stairs, his eyes tracking Peter's fingers uncannily, being as he couldn't actually _see_ them. Peter began sniff, and his tears flowed faster.

"Save your emotion for later," Loki snapped. Brita burst into tears at his harsh tone. The demigod's exasperated sigh warned me that I should try and sooth her again. For Peter's sake, I didn't leave, but simply turned so that neither he or Loki was visible to the girl. Seeing her father in the state he was would not help, and Brita was already terrified of Loki.

_She's smarter than I am._

I started singing the Russian lullaby again, hoping it would work as well as it had the first time. Slowly, her tears faded away. Just as she fell silent, Peter stopped clacking on the keyboard.

"It's done," he said quietly.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Yay! Another chapter! You guys are amazing, btw!  
**


	12. Date Night with a Demigod

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Hey everyone! Thanks for your continued support! *hugs* We're putting the authors note at the beginning because there's a mild swear word - just wanted to give you a heads-up. Besides the fact that I will have started school by the time the next chapter is up and that Alassiel will be out of town for a while, I think that's everything!  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

"I did it," Peter said wearily. "The shipment has been canceled."

Loki slowly stepped down in the stairs, his eyes locked on the blonde man. "The British Prime Minister will not receive his methamphetamine shipments?"

"For an entire year," Peter replied, slowly climbing to his feet. He winced and tried to rotate his cuffed arm. "Now let Brita go!"

The little girl woke at the sound of her name. "Daddy?" she whispered.

Loki grabbed the laptop off of the ground and peered at the glowing screen. His thin lips pressed together so hard they seemed to disappear. He looked up at me and opened his mouth to give orders, but closed it again. His eyebrows drew together. "What... is that?" he hissed.

"What is what?" I asked, confused.

The demigod lunged forward and peeled the fingers of my hand apart- the one that had been holding Brita's back. In horror, I realized what he had grabbed. The phone. I had forgotten about it in Peter's shocking appearance. Brita was thankfully quiet as Loki examined it.

"Who did you call?" he roared suddenly. Brita screamed and started sobbing into my shoulder.

I slowly backed away from him, terrified of the rage in his eyes. "No-nobody," I stammered. Loki slowly advanced. Fearing the worst, I slowly bent and set Brita down. The crying girl tottered over to Peter, who scooped her up and held her protectively to his chest. "I didn't call anyone!"

"Might I remind you, Miss Romanoff, of your oath to me?"

I thought desperately. Loki couldn't know that I had called Dr. Banner, it would end badly for everyone. Inspiration struck. "It's dead!" I said with all the force I could muster. "And there isn't a charging cable. Trust me, I looked." Finishing off the half-lie with a glare.

Loki stared at me for a long second. I tried to look as innocent as possible. Finally, his bright green gaze slipped from me to Peter and Brita. Then he looked down at the cell phone. Slowly, he closed his hand around it. The plastic began to crack and crumble under his pale fingers. The three of us stared in horror as the demigod crushed the old phone without any noticeable effort. When his fingers touched his palm, Loki opened his hand and tipped it to the side. Shattered, broken phone parts rained down and landed on the soft carpet between us. I took a step back and felt the mutilated plastic crunching under my shoes.

As if nothing had happened, he turned to Peter. "If you stop the shipments, I will know immediately," Loki threatened. "For now..." He grabbed Peter's arm. The two men and Brita vanished with only a short blast of icy air and the echo of Brita's scream.

I sucked in a deep breath and stared at the remains of the phone. My only link to help... gone. I quickly rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the charging cable, frantically searching for a place to get rid of it before Loki came back. If he knew... I shuddered at the thought. I ran through a list of options in my mind.

_The garbage? No. That's the first place he would look. Garbage disposal? _I glanced into the sink. _There isn't one. Under the couch cushions? Down the toilet? _Frustrated, I twisted my fingers into my hair.

"Arrghh!" I shouted into the empty house. It wasn't just the charger problem. I was bowing to Loki's wishes. _That_ was the problem. I had always prided myself on being independent. Nobody had ever had to rescue me before. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself... At least until Barton had died. I refused to think of it as my fault. Loki had set Clint against me, and I had merely defended myself. And yet my own logic sounded twisted to me, even in my slightly hysterical and sleep-deprived state.

Forcing myself to focus on the problem at hand, I ran through my list of hiding places. None would work. Except the toilet. Positive that I was crazy, I sprinted to the small room upstairs and shut the door behind me. I engaged the lock with a soft click and turned to the toilet. The cord dangled from my left hand as I stared at the porcelain fixture. The feared assassin had been reduced to locking herself in the bathroom in order to flush an electronic cable. With a sigh, I dumped the stupid thing in and hit the lever.

As water flooded the basin, I turned and braced my hands against the counter. The cool tiles felt good. Wearily, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Tangled and oily hair, dirt smudged all over, dark circles the size of grapes under my eyes, bandaged hand and torn clothes. I looked like I had just crawled out of a WWI trench. I sighed again and considered taking a shower. The idea of hot water was strongly appealing... I made up my mind and started the water. When stream began to fill the bathroom, I hopped in. It was heaven.

I don't remember how long I was in there, with the almost boiling hot water pouring down on my shoulders and through my hair. There wasn't any shampoo or soap, but I didn't care. Images of Brita's terrified face and the dead body of the girl from Bangkok floated across my mind's eye. A single question repeated itself over and over again. Before Loki had given me the nightmares, I had almost felt comfortable around him. Why?  
With my eyes closed, I leaned against the side of the shower. Of everything that had happened, that worried me the most. Actually, no. The possibility that Loki might take over the world worried me the most. But trusting that madman was only second by a little bit.

"Natasha!" I heard his roar through the closed door and over the running water.

I cursed. Speak of the devil...

Shutting off the water, I stumbled out of the shower and hastily toweled off before struggling into my dirty clothes again.

"Natasha!" he shouted again.

"I'm coming!" I yelled back.

With one arm through the sleeve of my t-shirt, I flung open the door and thundered downstairs. Loki stood in the middle of the living room, glaring at me. I crossed my arms and glared back. His eyes drifted over me, taking in my wet hair and mussed appearance.

A wave of his hand, and another white Nordstrom's bag appeared. He handed it over with a muttered word. It might have been, if I was feeling optimistic, "sorry".  
I took the bag and let it dangle at my side. "What did you do to Brita?" I demanded.

"She will remain safe as long as Peter cooperates," Loki said offhandedly. "Since he fears your fists as much as he fears me, I don't think you have to worry about that little girl."

Privately relieved, tossed the bag onto the couch. "It would be hopelessly foolish to ask what you're doing next?" I asked grumpily.

Loki smirked.

"I'll take that as a yes..."

He inclined his head and flourished his hand again. A blue-checkered paper bag appeared. When he offered it, I peeked inside. Soap. Shampoo. Lotion. Perfume. All in a tantalizing scent that I couldn't place. I pulled out the bottle of lotion and read the label.

"Twilight Woods?" I glanced up at the demigod.

His smirk hadn't faded. "Sleep," he ordered. "I will return at seven this evening. Be sure you are ready."

"Ready for what?"

He pondered that for a second, gazing at me with dark green eyes. "A treat," he said finally.

"What?"

But he had vanished, leaving me alone once more. I groaned with frustration. Seven, huh? I looked around for a clock. It was eight in the morning. With nothing better to do, I walked back through the kitchen to go upstairs. A plastic bag sat on the counter, giving me a pause. A quick inspection revealed a wrapped sandwich, banana, and bottle of water whose label was in Norwegian.

"Loki," I muttered. "Where did he get the 'How to Keep Mortals' guidebook?" I peeled the banana as I walked upstairs. Two small bedrooms, an empty room, and the bathroom stood off the hall. I went into the larger bedrooms and inspected it as I ate the tasty fruit. Unsurprisingly, there was no other phone. With a sigh, I dumped the peel into the trash and stretched out on the patchwork quilt.

Sleep quickly closed in. Suddenly, I remembered the call I had made. Dr. Banner was coming! Even if Brita was safe, he could still rescue me. An annoying little voice whispered, _Rescue you from what? The only time you've gotten hurt is when you run off on your own and don't listen to Loki..._

_I don't want to just give up and sit like a good dog, though, _I thought angrily. _He's trying to take over the world!_

_He is still protecting you..._

Firmly ignoring the thought, I rolled over and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Night was just falling when I opened my eyes again. The red numbers of the digital clock beside me declared 5:45. A little over an hour to get ready for whatever grand scheme Loki was plotting. Sighing, I rolled off the bed and went downstairs to grab the two bags he had left me. Without bothering to see what clothes he had procured for me, I scoured the bathroom for a towel and washcloth before hopping into the shower again. As much as I wanted to hate the scent Loki had chosen, I couldn't. The smell clung to my skin and hair, but it wasn't unpleasant. Frankly, it reminded me of that perfume Barton had given me for my birthday a few months ago...  
Shaking off the thought, I stepped out of the shower, squeaky clean and remotely happy, to dry off. I dumped the Nordstrom's bag out onto the counter and stared.

"Surely not..." I whispered. "This?" I held up a short, sparkly black dress. "Where in the world are we going?"

I shimmied into it. Luckily, it hit two inches above my knee, so it was modest in that respect. The neckline actually hit my neck, too. But the back... I twisted around to peer at it. A triangular panel had been cut out and replaced with several wide strips of fabric. With a certain amount of triumph, I noticed that there were no shoes. Loki wasn't infallible, after all. With my hair quickly brushed, I stepped out of the bathroom.

"Wonderful timing," Loki said suavely. Dressed in a dark green suit and crisp white shirt, he looked rather handsome- I had to admit- as he paused halfway up the stairs. "I was just about to come and get you."

"No yelling this time?" I asked. "And you forgot to get me shoes."

Loki said nothing as he climbed the rest of the stairs, but yet another bag appeared in his hands. The pair of black wedges inside fit perfectly, which came as no surprise.

"A final gift, before we go," Loki said. From the inside pocket of his suit coat, he produced a small box.

I eyed it nervously. "If you propose I'm going to kill you."

Calmly, Loki replied: "I would expect no less from the great Natasha Romanoff." He opened the box and tipped it in my direction.

A set of sparkling diamond earrings rested on the soft velvet interior. A small emerald, surrounded by even smaller diamonds, glittered in the soft light of the hall.

I blinked. "Where did you steal those from?"

"Always a charmer, aren't you?" Loki muttered. He lifted the dangly earrings out of the box and stepped toward me. I took a step back. "I'm just putting them in for you," he said, clearly exasperated.

Still wary, I stood still and Loki gently slipped them on. His fingers were icy cold where they brushed against my cheek. When he had finished, he stepped back and gazed at me. "Stunning."

I looked uncertainly back at him.

"Now, my dear, we shall be off." Loki offered me his arm like some Victorian gentleman.

"Are taking a car?"

"Do you want to drive to London?" he questioned.

"No..."

"Then take my arm." Loki smiled charmingly. He almost looked innocent. Reluctantly, I slipped my hand around his elbow. The Norwegian house instantly vanished, replaced by the bustling streets of downtown London. Loki set off, weaving through the people easily. I held onto his arm and jogged to keep up. It was tempting to let go and melt into the crowd, but something stopped me. Maybe it was an urge to make sure Loki didn't walk into some store and blow the whole thing up. Maybe it was the fact that I would then be alone in the middle of a massive city without a phone or money (unless I sold the earrings). Maybe it was that I just felt safer with Loki. Given all that had happened, it wasn't a _completely_ insane idea. Still, I dismissed it and mulled over the idea of selling his earrings.

Loki suddenly stopped. I almost bumped into him, but I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk instead and fell against his shoulder. Loki steadied me without looking, eyes fixed on something ahead of us. Disgruntled, I yanked my arm free of his and tried to find what he was staring at. The bright flashes of light gave it away. The British Prime Minister, looking a little frayed, was being escorted through a dense crowd and across the street toward a set of elegant white marble columns. Gold letters above them boldly declared: "Theatre Royal" and "Haymarket". Banners hung between several of the columns, advertising the London Symphony Orchestra opening at the theater on October 9th.

"Before you ask," Loki said suddenly. "Today is indeed the 9th of October."

I glared at him. "Reading my mind now, are you?"

"Merely observing where you are looking," he replied calmly. "Now, stay at my side." Loki began to weave his way through the throng of people, me trailing. The flashing lights from the media disappeared inside the building, only to be replaced a smaller group of reporters, photographers, and policemen. In their midst, a group of haughty-looking men and women in expensive suits and dresses strolled along. Loki walked toward them as if they were simply a group of acquaintances. The press of people thickened around us until we reached a line of K-rails blocking the crowd from the obviously important group of people behind them. The demigod escorting me didn't seem to notice them. He stepped through them onto the street.

"What?" I stuttered, pulling free and standing on the civilian side.

"Come on," he ordered.

"But..." I glanced around. As in New York City, nobody seemed to notice us.

"Natasha... Trust me." His normally hard eyes appeared as kind as Dr. Banner's.

"Trust you?" I snarled with no real conviction. Loki merely looked at me and extended his hand- through the barrier. I crossed my arms.

"Have I ever physically harmed you?" he asked finally.

"... Not physically," I admitted slowly. Loki stretched his hand out a little further. Reluctantly, I touched my fingers to his palm. Instantly, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me through the K-rail. I gasped in surprise: I hadn't been expecting him to practically wrench my arm from its socket.

"There," he said calmly, but his voice went icy hard with his next words. "In the future, you must obey me instantly. Is that clear?"

I stared back at him without answering. Loki raised an eyebrow. When I still did not reply, he turned away and slipped into the back half of the VIP crowd. Nobody reacted. It struck me that it was the perfect time to escape. Loki had left me alone in the middle of London... But the British Prime Minister. Who knew what that maniac of a demigod was planning to do to him while he listened to classical music? With a sigh, I chased after Loki. He was near the edge of the crowd, and since I was apparently still invisible in the eyes of everyone, it was a simple matter to find my way to his side again. Loki looked down at me, mildly surprised and impressed for a moment before his face was a calm mask once more.

We were escorted into the Theatre Royal in a grand fashion. The reporters were kicked out soon after we entered a small room beside the auditorium, leaving the group to talk freely amongst themselves. They all visibly relaxed and slowly began to take notice of us. Especially the women. One by one, they sidled up to Loki. I didn't pay attention to them, but rather eavesdropped on a small group of men in the corner.

"I'm sorry, but your name just isn't springing to mind at the moment. Would you be so kind as to...?"

"Mr. Laufeyson, at your service, ma'am."

"Look, Timothy, I don't think that bill is going to pass. We need to come up with something else that can-"

"Oh, save your breath, Rob. I've done this half a dozen times."

"Besides," another voice piped up. "Have you seen the Minister today? He looks a little off..."

"Pleased to meet you," said a slightly breathless voice. "May I ask what your title is?"

"I don't have an official one, but I work directly with the Minister," Loki replied.

"Off, you say? Hah. If we're lucky, he's sick with some terrible disease and will be dead in a few months."

"Don't get your hopes up," Timothy whispered.

Loki had launched into some fake story about his lake house. I glanced back at him and nearly jumped. No less than five women stood around him with rapt expressions. He appeared relaxed and at ease nonetheless. I stared at them for a moment when the group that I had been listening to spoke up again.

"Timothy, when did that once bloke say that he would...?"

"He said to be patient. You should too." Timothy paused and snorted. "Although, he is here..."

I looked over and saw three sets of eyes scanning the room. The fourth, Timothy's, were focused on Loki. Several seconds passed before they all saw him.

"Next to the redhead?" one whispered.

"Yup. If anything out of the ordinary happens, try not to panic. That said, I don't exactly know what he's doing-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as a black-suited man opened a small door across the room. Conversation died into respectful silence as each person made their way into the theatre, where the discordant sounds of an orchestra warming up sounded.

Loki touched my elbow, an amused smile on his face. "This way, Miss Romanoff."

We moved into the auditorium and were led up a flight of steps with half a dozen other VIPs to the middle of three box seats. Loki graciously allowed me to sit first, then settled into the velvet covered seat beside me.

"When did you learn Midgardian manners?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, it wasn't that difficult, considering that Asgardians taught you mortals those manners in the early 18th century." He scanned the crowd below us while I stared at him in shock.

"That doesn't make sense..."

He looked at me and smiled. "Does it have to?" The orchestra suddenly fell silent. "Oh, good." Loki leaned forward a bit. "They're starting."

"Are you excited?" I asked, puzzled. I had never seen him like this.

He gestured for me to be quiet as the conductor flounced onto the stage to much applause. When the clapping died away, the orchestra launched into a vibrant piece.

"You like classical music?" I whispered.

"Of course. It is one of the few things you mortals do well. Coff included."

"Coff? Oh, do you mean coffee?" I smiled, amused at the thought of Loki drinking from a Starbucks cup. "Coulson said that your brother is fond of it too."

Loki scowled and motioned for my silence again. It continued in that manner for the rest of the concert. I could not speak, for Loki had gotten fed up with my attempts after two songs and cast a spell to lock my lips together. Grumpy and sullen, I crossed my arms, slouched in my seat, and stewed in my own anger. It wasn't until the intermission that I noticed the Prime Minister in the box seats directly across the theatre from us. Watching him occupied me for the rest of the concert. It wasn't that I despised classical music, in fact, I found it rather enjoyable at times and the London Symphony was one of the best, but I had more important things to worry about. As best as I could tell in the dim theater, the Minister was a touch pale and nervous, but there was nothing obviously wrong. It could have simply been the stress of a long day wearing on him. But I knew that it was something more. Whenever I glanced at Loki, he was either staring raptly at the cellos or smirking at the Minister.

When the last note died away, Loki got to his feet and dragged me after him. People were on their feet, clapping enthusiastically. The demigod made his way to the exit with his usual grace and ease. I was less graceful, despite my enhanced abilities.

"Stupid shoes," I muttered, stumbling once again.

To my surprise, Loki actually stopped and looked back. "We are almost there."

"Where is _there_?" I mumbled.

He gestured ahead of us. One neon sign stood out among the rest: "The Veeraswamy Restaurant".

"Hungry?" Loki asked with a smirk.

I stared. The London Symphony Orchestra and now _this_? Finding my voice, I asked: "Did you rob Stark?"

He laughed. Loki actually laughed. And then he led me into one of the most expensive restaurants in the world and into a lush seat in the reserved section overhanging the rest of the restaurant. A waiter brought us a bottle of white wine and vanished.

"You approve?" Loki asked smoothly, filling my glass with a well practiced hand.

"Uhh..."

Below us, the door opened and the Prime Minister and his entourage entered with the flashing of two dozen cameras. They were quickly shut out, however, and the group was led into the same section as us.

"Are you stalking him?" I demanded.

"Who?"

"The Minister!"

"Ah." Loki leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the wine. "Interesting question."

"Answer it," I said coldly.

"No, I am not stalking him," he replied after a minute. "I am keeping an eye on my prey."

"Prey, pawn," I grumbled. Loki certainly had a high opinion of the human race.

Then a head of brown curly hair caught my attention. Was that...?

"Wonderful," Loki exclaimed softly as two pristine white plates were placed on our table. Around the room, the same thing was being done. Tiny amounts of expensive food rested in the center with sauce dribbled elaborately around it.

I looked up again at the person I had seen before. I'd swear... He turned his head to the side. It was! I nearly leapt to my feet and shouted: "Dr. Banner!" but the way he quickly turned around again warned me not to. How had he found me here? I had assumed he would trace the phone call to some obscure Norwegian town.

Loki picked at the food but kept most of his attention on me and the Minister. "What a pitiful mortal," he muttered, looking at the balding man. His face shone with sweat and his small eyes darted all over the room as if searching for something.

"You made him like that!" I hissed. Dr. Banner's shoulder twitched toward us again.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Not without your assistance."

My temper, which had been slowly increasing over the past few hours, finally snapped.

"You forced me to accept your stupid promise!" I screamed, jumping to my feet. The conversation in our room and the restaurant below stopped. Nearly a hundred pairs of eyes turned my way, but I was too far gone to care. "You forced me to kill Barton, to follow you like a stupid dog, to torture Peter! You gave me nightmares! You are a demon! A monster!"

Loki appeared calm as he slowly rose to his feet, but the last couple days had taught me to notice the subtle changes in his mask.

He was scared.

"Natasha..." he said in a low voice, reaching out a hand to touch my shoulder.

I jerked away. "You're a bully and an egotistical maniac! You're conceited, pig-headed, and a lunatic! You're as arrogant as your brother and I HATE YOU!"

Loki recoiled a little. I ran at him with my fists swinging. He must have been completely taken aback, because the first connected with his eye, the second with his stomach. He lurched away, gasping for breath. Snatching his glass of wine off the table, I hurled it at his face before aiming a kick at a very indecent place. Loki fell against the chair behind him, eyes bulging.

"Natasha, calm down." Dr. Banner had appeared behind me. His brown eyes were wide and frantic. A single green vein popped out on his forehead. "Please."

"You haven't been stuck with that horrible monster!" I screamed.

"Natasha..." he grabbed my arm. "We need to go."

"No!"

There was an explosion of blue light behind us. Those who hadn't backed away did so with ear-piercing screams. Loki was on his feet again, and in full Asgardian armor. His eyes blazed with anger and a healthy amount of good, old-fashioned terror. "Hulk," he growled, backing away.

Dr. Banner stared at him for a second, then groaned and backed away from me. "Go..." he moaned. "Go!"

His skin turned green.

His body swelled.

And then all hell broke loose.


	13. Mortal Medicine

Dr. Banner had completely transformed from the mild-mannered scientist into the raging, mindless monster that had chased me through the Helicarrier and nearly ended my bloody career—Thor's timely appearance had undoubtedly saved my life.

The adrenaline that coursed through my body was both terrifying and electrifying. Always, this was the truth... always, some horrible part of me would revel in the surge of fear.

Loki was most certainly _not_ reveling in his terror, from what I could tell. Which wasn't much, because I was already up and running toward the door. The exit was blockaded by dozens of screaming people who were also attempting to vacate the building.

Another blue flash lit up the wall in front of me, casting sharp shadows across the tables and plaster, but I didn't look over my shoulder; I didn't want to know.

The Hulk roared, and the ground shook. The fixtures rattled in the ceiling, and a woman, somewhere, let out a piercing shriek that—although the situation was indeed dire—I deemed unnecessarily loud and obnoxious.

Cursing, I pushed aside three people, bulled past a young gentleman who appeared to be having a seizure, and headed toward the elevator. It was jam-packed, with no signs of immediately going either up or down, as more and more people tried to crowd their way into the little room.

I heard glass breaking and whipped my head around to look: someone with an over-abundance of fear and a decided lack of common sense had broken one of the windows and actually _jumped_ out of the building.

It took me a moment to spot Loki amid the chaos, but when I did, my breath caught. He was standing on one of the tables, half-crouched, his glowing staff in one hand and the other stretched out for balance. Like some unearthly bird of prey, he perched there, still as a statue, and waited for the Hulk to approach.

Banner had somehow been relocated to the complete opposite side of the room—likely tossed there unceremoniously by Loki's interesting weapon-of-choice—but was now thundering toward him, crushing tables, chairs, vases, dishes, and any other restaurant paraphernalia that stood in his way.

Loki drew back his staff and I opened my mouth to shout a warning. But of course, Dr. Banner was in no state of mind to listen to reason. He would just as soon turn on me as murder the demigod.

With an earth-shaking roar, the Hulk grabbed Loki around the middle...

I heard something crunch, and shuddered, ducking behind the nearest piece of overturned furniture and peering out from behind the tablecloth.

The demigod's face went as white as a sheet, and his death-grip on his staff loosened slightly.

Then the oversized, green, and muscular Bruce Banner hurled him not _against_ the wall, but _through_ it. The ceiling cracked, plaster fell down like rain, and a chandelier smashed through the floor as the entire building quaked, shaken to its very foundations by the force of Loki's slender body as it removed the main portion of three consecutive walls, one after the other. I assumed he had landed somewhere in the kitchen, but I wasn't entirely certain.

The Hulk turned toward me, beady eyes roving the half-emptied restaurant.

I quailed.

But before he could so much as catch my gaze, I felt a strong hand latch onto mine, pulling me down behind a table.

I turned to see who it was, and found myself staring into the cold eyes of—

"Agent Coulson!"

"Shhshh!"

Relieved, I felt my terror slip away and let the comforting presence of Phil Coulson fully register in my mind: Phil was here. He would know what to do. He _always_ knew what to do...

There was a breath of eerie silence—and then a crash that rattled my teeth and shook my brain. Several people screamed, and one shouted something profane.

Coulson and I both instinctively flattened ourselves against the floor, and he aimed his handgun up above us, poor defense though it would be against the Hulk. Silence reigned for several moments. I huddled against the overturned table, heart pounding. Coulson took a quick look over the top of it, and then rose to his full height. I hesitantly got up on my knees and peered over the tablecloth, wondering exactly what it was that he saw. A roar echoed somewhere below us, and then I glimpsed... the hole.

The huge, gaping hole.

...in the floor.

"Phil, we have to stop him! We have to—"

I was interrupted by several other agents who had suddenly appeared out of the crowd of panicked VIPs. Several of them I recognized. They had blended in with the distinguished guests, apparently, waiting for the opportune moment to... rescue me? Wasn't Banner the only person who was supposed to know my situation?

"Arms behind your back, Miss Romanoff," one of them said. Coulson had somehow disappeared, but I could faintly hear the roaring of the Hulk somewhere far away… Distracted as I was with terrifying thoughts of London being ripped apart by a raging green monster, it took me a moment to realize what was happening.

"Wait—what? No! What are you—"

"Your cooperation would be welcome. We prefer to use as little force as possible," the other said stiffly, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The first, younger agent jerked my hands around behind my back. His fingers were cold and clammy, and slightly shaky. I knew that he was afraid of me. They probably both were.

One cuff was locked around my wrist, but I wrenched my other hand away and pulled to no immediate avail. Five other agents began to close in on me, and I realized that something had gone terribly, dreadfully wrong. "Don't touch me," I growled, keeping my free hand out of reach and glaring hotly at the two agents who had accosted me. "When I report your actions to the Director—"

"Mr. Stark already notified Director Fury of your transgressions. You are to be transported to SHIELD headquarters for interrogation." He reached for my other hand again, and for a moment I froze.

"_Stark." _I whispered the name like a curse.

And then yanked my cuffed wrist around, throwing my captor off-balance. The young agent fell into a chair, and I kicked the other man in the face before he could react. He stumbled blindly backwards, swearing and clutching at his broken nose.

I had to get out of there, fast. They no longer cared for my services. I was now a threat, an enemy of SHIELD. Within a matter of minutes, my name would appear on the Elimination List.

"Case Red! Case Red!" somebody shouted into a handheld communicator. Those words froze my blood. "Get Fury on the line!"

"Don't let her—"

"—Coulson to base!"

"Dispatch!"

Several of the agents whipped out their guns and started firing, but I flipped behind the table, and then sprinted toward the huge gaping hole in the wall that had been left by the spectacular flying exit of Loki Laufeyson. The only other option would have been to dive through the crater in the floor and potentially fall several stories to a very messy death.

One of the bullets grazed my ribcage, and I hissed through my teeth, ducking through the gap in the wall and quickly maneuvering the broken chinaware and rubble that graced the next room. Several people were lying unconscious under bits of broken furniture, but for the most part the room had been evacuated. I didn't stop to help them. SHIELD would take care of the citizens. It was my job to take care of myself.

I was still in shock, and could not outrun my thoughts: how could Fury have given them orders to drag me back to base as a prisoner? How could he have thought Stark's playboyish, narcissistic two cents more important than mine? And now they were trying to kill me… to kill the greatest assassin who ever walked the face of this earth. I had more than accounted for the innocent lives I had claimed. I had helped them in every way possible. I had saved many missions from completely and utter failure. And now this? This was my repayment?

These dark, frantic ideas were pushed aside as I darted through the next mutilated wall. There, lying before me in a crumpled heap on the floor, was Loki.

I stared.

His face was downturned, but I saw blood forming a puddle on the floor beneath him. It stained his tunic, creating dark patches on the fabric and crimson splotches on the metal. One hand was thrown up over his face, and the other was hidden beneath his battered body.

"Loki!"

Nothing.

Temporarily forgetting my distress, I quickly crossed the room and knelt beside him, grabbing his shoulder and flipping him completely over. I sucked in a quick breath of astonishment. Blood oozed slowly out of a dozen minor cuts on his face, and one big gash along his jaw. A soft moan emanated from somewhere deep inside his chest, but his eyes were screwed shut.

Whatever my subconscious mind had been expecting... it hadn't been _this_.

_This_—this contradiction—ate away at my confidence. In my mind, Loki had been invincible: it had not occurred to me that he could ever be reduced to such a state. Until now, I had not seen anyone succeed in drawing blood from his Asgardian flesh.

The SHIELD agents were probably almost upon us, and I bent down, gripping Loki's crimson-streaked gardbraces. "Loki, we—we have to get out of here," I whispered, shaking him slightly. I had been trying to cause bodily harm to him myself less than five minutes ago, but now he was my only escape from this death-trap, for there were no windows or any other doors but the one leading back. And there was something else... Something that tugged at a corner of my heart as I saw him lying there in a pool of his own blood...

_Just like Hawkeye._

Readjusting my grip, I shook him again. "Wake up!" I shouted. I could hear footsteps in other room. They would be here in a matter of seconds. I noted the desperation that was creeping into my voice, but I lacked even the ability to care. So what if I looked like a frightened little girl? If Loki failed me, I would be dead or imprisoned in a matter of minutes. "Wake up! Get us out of here! ...LOKI!"

I screamed the last word with such force that his eyes flew open almost before his name had left my mouth. His lips parted, and his pupils rapidly dilated and contracted, trying in vain to adjust to the dim glow above us that must have seemed painfully bright.

"Hands up, Miss Romanoff. Stand and face the wall."

The agent's smooth words barely had time to register before Loki jerkily reached up and clamped a hand down on my arm. The fade was slow... and the transition almost hurt.

Blurry images flashed across my eyes, and for a moment, all I could see was brilliant scarlet—the color of Loki's blood—

And then green—the green of a pine forest in the winter—

Then a strange and convoluted reflection—an angry, twisted, female visage—myself—framed by waves of messy red hair—

A land of ice and darkness—the ruins of an ancient temple—the face of a child—

Mountains—rivers—valleys—seas—all crystalline and snow-capped—perhaps the hills of Norway...

And then...

I tried to pull away, but found myself already sucked into the cold whirlwind of that-which-is-not. The muffled bang of a pistol shot rang out in the silence.

I opened my mouth to cry out, but no wave of agony swept over me. Just warmth. And some pleasant floral aroma mixed with the too-familiar stench of gore and bruised flesh.

My eyes were closed, and my head was swimming. I felt as if I were being spun around in continuous, torturous circles. Dazed, I bent down and buried my face in Loki's armor.

After several painful seconds, everything seemed a bit more stable, and I lifted my head, blinking my eyes open again. We were now in the room of an upper-class home. Alone.

That was all that was immediately apparent. And that was all I needed to know.

I coughed, pressing a hand to my side. Somehow**, **the cut in my side had stopped bleeding. Was it possible that Loki had healed me during our teleportation, perhaps even inadvertently? Unlikely though it seemed, I left it at that, and turned my attention to the demigod. He looked even worse than before, if that were at all possible. His skin had turned a deathly white, and for a moment I wondered whether he was even breathing.

Panicking, I didn't stop to list all the reasons why I should let him lie there in a pool of his own blood. I didn't bother to justify killing him myself while he remained defenseless, as I had longed to do on more than one occasion. And I didn't pause to consider the ramifications of my sudden empathy. I just knew that he was hurting, and that somehow, I had to help him.

His hand was still gripping my arm. I gently pried his fingers apart and let his limp arm fall to rest on the carpet. One thing was certain: I had to remove his armor. Could I? Was it magically glued to him or something like that? Willing to give it a try, I reached for gap between the breastpiece and shoulderpiece, which were connected by some kind of green cloth, and tugged. It didn't budge.

With a fierce growl, I stumbled to my feet and began zig-zagging toward what looked like a kitchenette in one corner of the room.

_With any luck..._ I glanced around at the small counterpane, and then swore in frustration. _Of course not. I never have any luck. Maybe in the cabinet...? No, not there either..._

I groped frantically around in the drawers. I wasn't sure how much time I had, and I wasn't about to waste any. After several minutes of searching drawers and cupboards in vain, I finally found what I was looking for and weaved my way across the carpet, back toward the fallen demigod, but now armed with a pair of scissors.

Asgardian cloth was apparently much better made than the kind here on planet Earth, because it took me three tries to cut through the first piece; however, with a little practice, I managed to slit the rest of the fabric with relative ease and went about removing the various pieces of metal and leather armor. I hoped, vaguely, in the very back of my mind, that Loki would forgive me for destroying his entire Asgardian ensemble.

Beneath the armor was a strange black tunic, and equally black pants that reminded me of leggings. And then his boots, obviously. When I had stripped him down to the bare minimum, the extent of his injuries became fully visible. To say that I had seen a lot of blood in my life would have been a grave understatement. But the sight of this new and undisguised damage turned my stomach.

There was no instant cure for such a wide array of wounds, and if he was bleeding on the inside, no cure at all. Not without hauling him to the nearest emergency room. At any other time, I could have smiled at the thought—it was unlikely that he would handle such a situation with any attempt at decorum.

But the bloody mess I was now confronted with kept my mind in a darker, more serious mood.

_Start with the face, _I decided quickly. I didn't see anything bleeding as profusely as the cut on his jaw.

Maybe there were bandages in the bathroom? Where was the bathroom? Where were _we?_ Weary and disgusted with my own incompetence, I rose to my feet once again and set off down a promising hallway, mulling the situation over in a detached, calculating way. One thing I had learned since the death of Clint Barton: emotions always hampered your ability to think clearly.

When I returned, hands freshly washed, laden with bandages, Neosporin, antiseptic spray, and some kind of sterilized gauzy material, Loki's eyes were open and locked on the doorway.

I hesitated, taken aback. My hastily planned strategy for patching him up had been built around the idea of an unconscious and complacent Loki, not an awake and belligerent one.

He looked as though he had perhaps tried to right himself, but failed miserably. He now appeared to be slightly shifted several inches to his right, and one palm was facing up. That was the only change in position.

Feeling very conspicuous and a little self-conscious in my glitzy, gore-spattered black dress with my motley assortment of first-aid supplies, I took a deep breath and simply strode forward, trying to ignore the piercing look he was giving me. As soon as I knelt at his side and set my burden down on the carpeted floor, however, he recoiled a bit, giving me a glare that would have frozen an entire body of water. He opened his mouth to speak, but leaned slightly forward and coughed instead. It was a horrible, grating, bubbling cough, and a trickle of red escaped his lips.

I blinked, trying to shove down the nausea that had been building in my stomach.

When he could finally form a coherent sentence, he gasped out, "What—what in the name of Odin do you plan on doing to me with those—those _mortal_ instruments?"

I lifted a swath of gauze and casually sprayed it with the antiseptic, trying to calm my racing heart. "Keep you from bleeding to death, of course."

Loki stared at the gauze in distaste. Then his lips formed one flat, derisive word: "No."

"Yes." I reached toward a cut on his forehead with the dampened gauze but he jerked away, much more swiftly than I would have believed possible a moment earlier. Blood flowed harder from his open wounds with the movement.

"No!" he hissed again. "That is—that is primitive!"

I supposed he was referring to the gauze and antiseptic, and felt a resurgence of my old hatred. "Take care of yourself, then," I dared, glaring coldly at him. "If you can."

He offered no verbal response, but I saw his dark pupils flicker dangerously. I waited. After a moment of our stare-down, his eyes took on a strange glaze and drifted slightly away from my face. It took me several seconds to realize that he had been rendered unconscious for a second time. I silently caught my breath and held it for a moment. For Loki to pass out at all would have been unthinkable, but twice? Maybe he really was bleeding internally...

Or maybe he was faking it. That was a disturbing idea, to put it mildly, but compassion ultimately won out over common sense and I reached up to dab at his forehead. He didn't move.

Blood soaked into the gauze immediately, and wet my fingers. I swallowed hard, reaching for another piece.

_Loki's cold fingers wrapped around my ankle and tugged me back toward him. I flinched, more afraid of his firm and gentle grasp than the prospect of facing my pain alone. "Do not move. I wish to treat you." There was a different look in his green eyes... No malice, grim amusement, anger, or mischief. A more subtle, kinder light filled his gaze. I nodded hesitantly. Keeping his touch strangely soft, Loki took my calf in his hands, inspecting the damage with a furrowed brow. He almost looked concerned about me. "I will personally rip Tony Stark's head off for damaging my pawn," he murmured, ruining the effect._

That cut was relatively small. A simple band-aid covered it. With that taken care of, I returned my attention to the gash along his jaw. The bleeding had slowed, but there was something sharp embedded in his skin... glass? Broken ceramic?

Clenching my teeth, I let the tip of my nail graze the shard-edge, and then pinched it between my thumb and forefinger, pulling it slowly free of the bleeding, broken flesh.

_In the semi-darkness by the window, Loki looked taller than ever. "True power comes only when you can accept your history and let it define who you are. There is no denying that you killed that girl. Suppressing the memory will not bring her back." All sympathy vanished from his voice. It became suddenly cold, and quiet, sending a chill through every bone in my body. "Accepting it, however, will allow you to move on and realize your full potential..."_

I set the glass shard aside and surveyed the wound. It would probably need stitches. I couldn't rely on Loki's healing abilities—if the bleeding wasn't stopped, and if he didn't have some time to recover, there were no guarantees that he would be able to mend his own injuries.

I turned to one of the medical kits I had found, searching desperately for a needle and thread. Something sterile, at least. A bit of suture came to light, but no needle. Maybe a sewing needle would work? But where would I find that?

Frustrated, I glanced down at the black dress Loki had given me and wiped my blood-smeared hand across the already stained fabric. Everything about this situation was disgusting. However, it was possible that I could patch the wound—temporarily—without stitches.

Deeply inhaling and slowly exhaling, I glanced down at what little supplies I did have. It was worth a try.

_Twitching the hem of the dress, I peered at my reflection again. The entire ensemble was green, of course, but for once, I didn't mind. Loki barely knew me, but the way the color of the fabric made my eyes stand out was unearthly. So was his intimate knowledge of me... How had he guessed my size with such accuracy?_

_When his face suddenly appeared in the mirror next to mine, I managed to suppress a scream of fright. I could not, however, keep from flinching. His lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. His hand was warm and gentle on my arm, and somehow soothed my shattered nerves. "You look gorgeous, my dear. Truly gorgeous."_

_'My dear'? He used that phrase all too lightly. Uncertain as to if I should pull away or not, I met his eyes through the mirror. But for the third time since this ordeal had begun, their startling green hue possessed a touch of kindness. "I am not lying to you, Natasha."_

_I lightly bit the inside of my cheek. "If you say so," I muttered, veiling my dismay with a heavy dose of sarcasm. His words both embarrassed me and gave me a reluctant sort of pleasure. Barton had never been one for flattery. Although Loki was ordinarily stingy with his compliments, they were always plenteous and eloquent when he was in the right mood._

With a shudder, I applied the last bit of medical tape to the makeshift bandage and leaned back to survey my work. It looked... pretty good, actually. At least considering what little I had to work with.

Loki hadn't moved. His eyes were still open, eerily enough, but they did not follow my movements, and his breathing—although it was shallow, and hitched now and then—was regular enough. There. It was done. I had heard the crack of his ribs, but I had no idea what to do about it. Gently, reluctantly, I dabbed away the blood on his pale chest. None of the cuts there were deep. With any luck, my treatment would allow him to come back to his senses, and his power. I couldn't help him anymore.

Without thinking, I put my hand on the side of his face, and smoothed my palm along his uninjured skin. A purple bruise was beginning to form above his cheekbone, and I wondered whether I should make a cold pack.

_I felt the demigod's heat as he leaned over. The edge of his leather jacket brushed against my shoulder. "Trust me," he whispered. "Have I not proven that I will look after you? What evidence have I given that I desire to kill or harm you? There is none," he answered his own question, and then paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "…I care about the welfare of my strongest servant," he murmured as his lips brushed across the top of my ear._

I flung open the door to the little freezer that rested above the fridge and sighed in relief. Thankfully, there was some ice in the very back. All of Loki's major wounds had been dealt with, and I was at a loss for something useful to do. An ice pack was the only thing that came to mind.

_"A final gift, before we go," Loki said. From the inside pocket of his suit coat, he produced a small box. _

_I eyed it nervously. __"If you propose I'm going to kill you."_

_Calmly, Loki replied: "I would expect no less from the great Natasha Romanoff." He opened the box and tipped it in my direction._

_A set of sparkling diamond earrings rested on the soft velvet interior. A small emerald, surrounded by even smaller diamonds, glittered in the soft light of the hall. I blinked, taken aback. "Where did you steal those from?"  
_

_"Always a charmer, aren't you?" Loki's voice sounded less than amused. He lifted the dangly earrings out of the box and stepped toward me. I took a cautious step back. "I'm just putting them in for you," he said, his tone conveying exasperation.  
_

_Though wary, I stood still while Loki gently and deliberately slipped them on. His fingers were icy cold where they brushed against my cheek. When he had finished, he stepped back and gazed at me. It was a look of undisguised admiration—a look I had only glimpsed once or twice before. "Stunning."  
_

_I glanced uncertainly back at him.  
_

_"Now, my dear, we shall be off." And Loki proceeded to offer me his arm like some Victorian gentleman._

Blinking, I brought my reminiscing to a complete halt. That was one outing I doubted either of us would quickly forget. And now what would he do? Everything he had so carefully orchestrated had gone wrong… and it was my fault: I had contacted Banner. That had been the first smart thing I did—and my first truly catastrophic mistake. I had been ready to kill the demigod myself earlier in the evening, but now that my boiling rage had dissipated I felt only guilt.

He had never hurt me.

Stunned, I rocked back on my heels. That was it. Why I was helping the insane demigod. He had never hurt me. _He had never hurt me. _That was the answer that had been plauging every decision I had made in the last four or five days. Loki had been kind (most of the time), protective, even sweet on rare occasions. Barton had done the same. Both had been aware of my bloody past.

Blood.

Loki.

Startled back into the moment, and promising myself that I would mull over the thought after Loki was safe,I grabbed a dishcloth and, draping it over my knee, shoveled a handful of ice into the folds. Then I tied it off like a knapsack and trudged back to my unlikely beneficiary, pausing to kick off my high-heels. The fluffy carpet felt good under my nylon-covered toes. I let my legs stretch out as I lowered myself to the floor beside Loki once again; my knees were stiff from kneeling for the last half an hour.

On impulse, I reached out to close his eyelids, but my fingers came to a halt several inches away. Were his eyes... blue? I leaned just a bit closer, and stared into their misty depths. No—I saw a hint of pine green encircling the paler irises. Perhaps they just looked blue in this light.

Tightening my grip on the makeshift cold pack, which was growing slightly damp as the ice melted, I pressed it against his cheek, right above the purple blotch. He did not awaken.

For several minutes I applied the ice to any visible area that looked as if it were in the process of forming a bruise. Then I set the rag down and sighed wearily, suddenly realizing just how tired I was. My long nap of this afternoon had not made up for hours of lost sleep the night before.

Anxious, I dragged myself across the floor and climbed onto the couch before I could fall asleep right there on the carpet. Loki was too unpredictable. Letting myself relax in such close proximity with the demigod was a daunting prospect, so I grabbed one of the cushions and, using it as a pillow, snuggled deeper into the couch.

It seemed like mere seconds before my eyelids grew heavy. Loki was still lying below me, his emerald eyes staring vacantly off to the left. It looked like a rather uncomfortable position, but I wasn't about to try carrying him into one of the bedrooms.

_Besides_, I told myself sleepily, still striving to keep my eyes open, _I think flat surfaces are __supposed to be better for your spine anyway... or something like that... and I'd probably hurt him far worse if I moved him..._ I finally let my eyes drift shut, images of Loki's pale face still hovering in my mind. _I won't go to sleep... just need to rest for a minute_...

I did not want to face another terrible dream—another memory I could never erase—another kill that would forever be a black mark on my conscience. But try as I might, it was only a matter of time before sleep enveloped my mind, dampening all thoughts but one: CASE RED.

I was no longer the hunter.

...I was the prey.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Insanity - It was all Lassie this time though ;)  
**

**Alassiel - This chapter was really quite painful to write [you always hurt the ones you love] but hopefully it explained some things!**

**We both hope you enjoy!  
**

**Insanity - P.S anyone who reviews gets a free cookie! :D  
**


	14. A Haircut

_We were in SHIELD headquarters, San Diego. Barton and I. The dream, the memory had repeated itself so many times that it was familiar and comforting. Even as I slept, I knew it was a dream. But I was not going to wake myself up from it._

_Barton was smiling, Fury was less grumpy than usual, it was a good day. Good, at least, until I first heard the phrase "Case Red."_

_"Lunch?" I knew it was Barton before he even spoke. His gait, the smell of his jumpsuit; it all gave him away. Or maybe I just knew him too well._

_"Mph." I didn't look up from the report I was trying to file. The stupid computers at SHIELD had decided that I was the person to harass. Since early that morning, I had struggled to log in, to open the template for a new report, to pull up a previous one. Now, it wouldn't let me save. As yet another error message flashed cheerfully at me, I slammed my fist into the keyboard._

_"I'll take that as a yes."_

_Finally, I looked up at Barton. He smiled kindly, the skin around his dark blue eyes crinkling as always. It was almost cute. "Help me," I demanded._

_"If you'll pay for lunch."_

_"Who said I was going?"_

_"I did." Barton casually leaned over and tapped the keyboard. My report instantly saved and vanished._

_"What did you do?" I demanded._

_He shrugged. "I didn't destroy the computer."_

_I glared at him for a moment, but it was too hard to remain serious around him. It was those stupid creases around his eyes, I told myself. Had told myself. Over and over again._

_"Fine," I sighed. "But we're going somewhere cheap." Barton laughed and began to walk towards the entrance. I followed, but we literally made it about three steps before Director Fury appeared in our path._

_"We have a problem, Agents." About half a second later, the sirens went off. The fluorescent lights above dimmed, replaced by flashing red ones and an increased glow from the hundreds of computers in the building._

_"What kind of problem?" Barton asked quickly, his light-hearted tone gone in an instant. So were the wrinkles around his hard blue eyes._

_"A Case Red problem."_

_Barton stiffened._

_I felt ignorant. "Case Red?"_

_"A traitor, Miss Romanoff." Fury's rolling tones echoed around the suddenly silent room._

_"Someone, namely Carlyle Pallis, has betrayed SHIELD and aided the enemy in their newest insane scheme to take over the world." If Fury was human enough to roll his eyes, that's what I imagined him doing._

_"A small matter, then." Barton said lazily. "I assume they know vital information about SHIELD? Or about some project that could possibly destroy the world?"_

_"The former," Director Fury said dryly._

_"Great," I spoke up. "Direct orders to eliminate the target, I suppose?"_

_Director Fury glared at us. "Get to work," he growled._

_Minutes later, we were positioned across the road from each other, weapons trained on the entrance to SAN. Planes roared in the distance, horns honked, people shouted. I could barely hear Barton and Fury over my earpiece._

_"Satellites have picked up his signal again," Fury reported. "As expected, Pallis is heading to your location."_

_"Yes, sir." Barton's voice sounded scratchy and strange over the headset. "Natasha, do you-"_

"Natasha..."

_That groan..._

_That wasn't part of my well-loved dream. Clint was supposed to ask me if I could see the car. But—_

"Natasha..."

I jerked up on the couch, staring at Loki. His eyes were half-open, and one outstretched hand slowly opened and closed.

"Natasha..."

"Loki?" I slid off the couch and onto my knees at his side.

"You…" He trailed off for a moment, and then tried again, his voice more bewildered and genuine than any I had ever heard him use before. "You… _you_ did this?" And he reached down to touch a bloody bandage that still encircled his waist.

"Yeah." I sat back on my heels. The uneven stitches on his jaw were slowly vanishing. All the small cuts on his body were gone. "Feeling better?"

"Yes." He paused. "... Thanks to you." Taken aback, I looked down at the worn carpet. "Hulk is... a menace that I was not prepared to face," he explained quietly. "It is thanks to your weak, but well-intended efforts that I was able to recover so quickly." I felt, to my embarrassment, my cheeks flush.

"What I do not understand..." I looked up. His eyes had fully opened and were probing my own with startling keenness. "What I do not understand is how Banner showed up in an exclusive restaurant where only the Prime Minister and a few select guests were allowed?"

"It's strange, isn't it?" I lied instantly.

"Yes... very..." Loki stared at me for another moment, then tried to sit up. A half-strangled hiss of pain slipped between his pale lips.

"Don't," I said quickly, gently pushing his shoulder back down until he was flat on the carpet again. With his scraggly black hair smashed under him like the hood of a cloak and his green eyes wide, he almost looked innocent. Then images of Brita's dead mother flashed across my memory. "You need more time to heal," I finished in a darker tone.

His gaze was questioning, but he remained silent. For about twenty seconds, I stared at the slice on his jaw as it slowly sealed itself together. Then I got bored. My attention was drawn back to his long hair. And then to the scissors lying to one side on top of the heap of shredded clothing. I glanced back at the demigod. His eyes had closed again. Loki's chest rose and fell steadily, although a very faint hiss came from between his clenched teeth with every exhalation.

Did I dare? Was Loki so comfortable around me that he would allow me to use a dangerous weapon near his head? I had killed with scissors before. He knew that, I was sure.

I slowly reached for the scissors. "Loki?"

"...What?"

"Can I cut your hair?"

After a seemingly long amount of time, Loki replied with the strangest statement I had heard from him yet: "My mother used to cut my hair."

I had barely heard the words. Loki had family other than Thor? Of course he did, I told myself. I had just never thought of him as... well... being any more than a sadistic madman with too much power.

"Is that a yes?" I asked after another moment of silence.

"I care not." Slowly, he rolled onto his side with a soft moan.

Almost without hesitation, I attacked his black locks with the scissors. Tiny chunks fell to the ground as I cut. The metal blades rubbed together in a faintly comforting sound. I soon fell into the rhythm of my work, half-listening to Loki's breathing and painful noises steady, then fade away. He wasn't dying: I could see his chest rising and falling out of the corner of my eye. But my mind was blank. The repetition, the concentration it took to trim his hair was curiously consuming. It didn't really matter. We were here, and I was safe. We were safe. As I cut, several measures of the finale from the London Symphony Orchestra replayed through my head. Up, down, a fancy trill, down again, fading away... The notes floated around my head like a carousel, over and over and over again.

Time passed in this manner until I decided my work was done. The steady snipping stopped. "There," I said softly. It was hard to break the peaceful silence.

Loki rolled onto his back again, grass-green eyes locking onto mine for a split second. Then he sat up.

"Ah-" I reached instinctively for him. Barton had been like that; always ready to get off the sick bed and back into action. But a glance at his pale chest revealed... nothing. He was better. Even the blood I had been too tired to clean off had vanished.

Loki looked down at himself, smiling. "Very good," he murmured. "All things considered..."

I tensed a little. Was he going to get angry now? Loki always did. But, then again, I had already passed his "innocent test" when he had woken up. Possibly.

He ran a finger through his now considerably shorter hair. To my relief, I couldn't find any sign of dislike on Loki's face. The demigod got to his feet in one fluid motion. I stood up much less smoothly, my knees stiff from kneeling for so long. They popped repeatedly, making me wince, as I straightened my legs. Loki, for an instant, gave me a demeaning look.

"Mortals..."

"Demigods," I snapped back at him. "Never grateful."

"I am," he said quickly. "If not for your rather strange care, I would still be lying on the floor here."

"Or in SHIELD custody."

Loki's smile faded. "...Yes."

Rather proud of myself for getting him to admit that I was right, even if it was a small detail, I flopped back on the couch. "Can you conjure up some magical Asgardian food?" I asked as my stomach growled loudly. "I didn't eat anything at the Veeraswamy."

"May I get dressed first?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He gestured to his open-necked tunic and black leggings. Or whatever they were.

I answered honestly: "Probably not."

Looking skeptical and a little annoyed, Loki picked up the top piece on his pile of clothing. It was a shred of his sleeve.

He took a deep breath. "Natasha..."

"Sorry."

Bit by bit, Loki spread out his ruined armor on the tan carpet. It took several minutes, but once it was assembled, a simple wave of his hand restored it to its original state. Turning away as he began to get dressed again, I wandered into the kitchen. It was nice, and well lit with bright sunlight from a large window about the sink, which I had neglected to notice during my earlier hasty search for the scissors. I quickly walked over to it and peered out, but all I saw was forest. Disappointed, I did a quick exploration of the rest of the house.

Rich and sturdy and tastefully decorated, the living room was complete with a stone fireplace and mantelpiece, though nothing was sitting on it now. When I wandered upstairs, I found what looked like another giant living space. An expensive-looking, curved leather couch was tucked into a corner, and a coffee table rested in front of it. One entire wall was home to an immense bookshelf filled with novels of various sizes and ages, and there were three more huge windows to catch the full effect of the rising sun.

_Okay..._, I decided as I looked out yet another window revealing nothing but forested hillsides. _Whoever owned this house was fond of seclusion, but he must have still enjoyed the luxuries of being wealthy. This isn't just some little old lake cabin. _

I strode swiftly down the hallway, ignoring the urge to peruse through the books on the shelves, and found a master bedroom, and then another large room, rather like the one downstairs. Both of them had their own adjacent bathrooms, expensively tiled and furnished.

And yet the little guest room at the very end of the hall was my favorite by far. It was small, cozy, and reminded me of the woods. The scent of pine permeated the air, and the bed was tucked into a corner, the slanted ceiling reaching its lowest point near the foot of the mattress. There was no pillow or sheets, just a quilt, but I supposed there were probably some in the tiny closet.

I hummed a bit of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony as I crossed the more modest room to pull aside the dark curtain that had veiled the left half of the window pane.

"Drafty Midgardian home."

This time I didn't jump at the sound of his voice. For some reason, I had been expecting him.

"It is nothing compared to the glory of Asgard, I assure you."

I smiled, running my hand along the dusty sill. "It's perfect." I wasn't quite sure why I said those words, but, strangely enough, they rang true. It reminded me of Clint. We had spent several months together in a log cabin up in Canada while on a rather lengthy mission, and the scent of pine and the patchwork quilt on the bed brought back sweet memories.

When I turned around, Loki's mouth was half-open, as if he had been about to make a remark but caught himself just in time. He was wearing his armor again, and it looked as if I had never taken a pair of scissors to it.

"Can I eat?" I asked after a moment's hesitation. "I'm still hungry."

"You are like a child, sometimes," he murmured. But a tray appeared on the end of the bed, laden with strange-looking food.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Possibly. I was merely insinuating that you are annoyingly persistent, like a young human. Take it as you will." He shrugged and took up an oblong purplish fruit in his hand. It snapped crisply under his teeth as he bit into it. "You wanted food," he admonished after he swallowed.

"What are you eating?" I asked with a certain amount of trepidation.

"Asgardian food. You will find it immensely superior to your mortal fare."

With a sigh at yet another insult against, well, everyone, I took up another one of the fruits. It shouldn't have come as a shock, but the taste _was_ extremely appetizing. I quickly devoured the entire fruit and some sort of sandwich. Feeling better, I looked up at Loki. He looked amused.

"You don't happen to have a change of clothes for _me_, do you?" I asked brusquely, fingering my now-blood-spattered black dress.

He tsked, and then smirked, striding across the room. He stopped directly in front of me and ran two fingers along the seam of the sleeve. For some reason, his touch lacked the warmth it usually carried. Instead, a trickle of coldness followed his fingertips down my arm, and I shivered. Perhaps using so much magic to heal himself had taken its toll. Or perhaps it was something else altogether…

"A shame," he murmured. "But it is not ruined beyond repair. Fortunately, I excel at mending things."

I fought back a spurt of sudden amusement, but could not stop an insolent smile from quirking my lips. "Ha. So you were a tailor back in Asgard?"

His expression did not change. "Of a sort. I often modified my apparel when it was not to my liking."

I thought back to Thor's gaudy armor and bold red cape, and then mentally compared it to Loki's dark, discreet leather garb. Those two were opposites in every extreme, even if brothers in name, so it was no wonder Loki disliked the royal colors of Asgard.

"But can't I have some... more comfortable clothes?" I pressed, rather impatient. I wanted nothing more than to discard this tight-fitting, glamorous dress.

Loki smirked. "Try the closet."

I obediently did as he suggested, and found—to my delight—what looked to be my old black SHIELD uniform. Upon further inspection, I discovered it to be slightly altered from its original state. It had been cleaned, and the SHIELD emblems had been removed from the shoulders. But the rest of it was intact, even my fingerless gloves.

"Get dressed and meet me on the first floor," Loki instructed. "We are going to London to clean up the mess Banner made. I have unfinished business there."

I turned around and gave him an astonished look. "But—is that safe?"

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

The way he said it, more like a statement than a question, made me backtrack immediately. "I mean… I didn't mean anything. I just… what do you want me to do?" I demanded, trying to sound casual.

"You," he said firmly, "will draw attention to yourself in an entirely different part of London. And I will carry out my Plan without fear of the Avengers interfering."

"You don't want me to accompany you?" I suggested hastily, not at all thrilled with his explanation.

"Our last outing together ended rather badly, as I'm sure you'll recall." He gave me a very pointed look that brought heat flooding into my face. "You will do as I say, without questioning my decisions."

I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling something stupid at the demigod as he strode back to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

At least he had given me back my old clothes. I removed my earrings, struggled out of the shimmering black dress, peeled off my nylons, and carelessly tossed everything on the floor in a rumpled heap before easily slipping into my familiar attire. The leather fit me like a glove. Aaahhh… this was much more natural. I didn't mind looking pretty. In fact, I enjoyed it. But this uniform had been designed for me, and was much more comfortable than the dress I had worn to the Veeraswamy.

My fiery red hair would probably attract some stares, and even without that advantage I knew would have no problem "drawing attention." The distinctive uniform was a dead give-away to any undercover agents. I had now been labeled a Case Red emergency, and SHIELD would be looking for me.

When I was satisfied with my appearance, I went downstairs and found Loki in the living room, sitting on the couch. He rose when I walked through the doorway, and extended a hand. "You wear leather well," he commented.

"So do you." The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, and Loki gave me a smile that I could not interpret. It was possible that he was just smirking at my mortal sentiment. Or maybe he was actually flattered.

"Take my hand."

I obeyed instantly, grateful that he had decided not to pursue the matter any further.

As I slipped my gloved hand into his, the green and black armor melted in the façade of formal human attire. Again, I noticed the deathly chill of his skin, but made no remark for fear of rebuke.

We were gone in a whirl, and I closed my eyes against the darkness, bracing myself. But this time, with Loki in full strength, there were no assaulting memories that were not mine, no strange voices in my head, and no wave of pain…

Only the usual cold wind that accompanied us on our silent travels.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**GUHH YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! We love you all so much :) Plus, Alassiel and I are going to see Avengers again this weekend! Super duper exciting :D It will be my 2nd time seeing it, and her FIFTH. Guys. Her FIFTH TIME SEEING ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING MOVIES OF ALL TIME.**

**...  
**

**Thank you for being amazing :D  
**


	15. Case Red

The dizzy sensation was something I would never get used to. My head swam for several seconds, and I put a hand over my temple, trying to still the throbbing. Then Loki's clear, calm voice pulled me back to reality. "Here we part. Do not fail me."

I opened my eyes, blinking against the sudden surge of bright sunlight, and tried to spot Loki. I caught a blurry hint of what might have been him, and reached out to grasp his hand, but by the time my vision cleared he was gone.

Cursing, I turned my attention to the surrounding area: rubble. Trees torn up and tossed aside. Cars smashed, hoods crumpled, tires strewn across the road. Buildings half-caved in. The town looked like the aftermath of a major war zone.

Banner had definitely been here.

To my left was the ruined Veeraswamy restaurant. Averting my gaze, I strode quickly down the road, ignoring the stares I was already starting to receive from construction workers and emergency crews. This place would be crawling with SHIELD officials. No wonder Loki had dropped me off here.

Increasing my pace, I veered toward one of the buildings that had nearly collapsed, turning my wrist so that I could see the bottom of my fingerless glove. I touched the palm with the fingertips of my other hand, and smiled grimly as it clung to my skin for a moment.

The adhesive properties were still intact.

Ignoring the shouts of the construction workers, I sprinted across the road and wrapped my hand around the first sturdy object in sight. My glove adhered to the metal, and I began to scale the wall, easily navigating the bricks and broken pipes.

"Miss! _Miss!_ You're not supposed to be up there!"

I did not even bother to turn my head, but swung up onto a slanted, crumbling windowsill and disappeared into the building. The place was a mess. Office papers were strewn all across the room, and a desk lying in one corner appeared to have been mutilated beyond all repair. Bruce had apparently gone on a complete rampage, and I wondered where he was now… Had SHIELD somehow managed to subdue him? Or… kill him? Was that possible?

Pushing my ugly thoughts aside, I darted through the doorway and into the hall, the pads on the bottoms of my soft boots gripping the floor and preventing me from sliding backwards. I rounded a corner and I came face-to-face with a team of paramedics. They took one look at me and stopped in their tracks, faces paling.

I imagined how frightful I must have looked. My short red hair was probably a royal mess, and I had not take the time to clean off the blood and mascara that had been smeared across my face like some strange tribal war paint.

I got a running start, making no sound on the slick floor, and vaulted over their heads. Several of them cried out in alarm. Halfway through my twisting leap, I smacked both palms against the ceiling and hung on, hooking my fingers into a chink in the plaster and bracing my feet against a light fixture.

The tiny, invisible suction cups in my gloves and boots coupled with my natural physical prowess enabled me to climb along the walls and ceiling as if I were an overly large, four-legged spider. I hissed once, like an angry snake, and that was all it took.

The EMTs scattered and ran, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Until two policemen came barreling around the corner. One of them pulled out a gun and fired, but I dodged. Two flips and a scissorkick later, both men were lying unconscious, face-down on the floor.

Pathetically easy.

Rubbing my fingertips together, I relished the slight tingling sensation in my nerve endings. I was more powerful than I had ever been before. Perhaps Loki had known what he was doing after all. Solo missions were my area of expertise.

Although I was supposed to be making a scene, SHIELD wasn't dumb. They would know it was a diversion if I was too obvious. I had to be stealthy—they would be upon me in a matter of minutes anyway if that construction worker had called me in. And the EMT's would probably have checked themselves into the nearest insane asylum by this point. Skulking along the ceiling, I glanced in every door I passed by. All were littered with broken furniture. Nothing interesting. The emergency crews must have taken care of any badly hurt citizens and dead bodies.

Then I rounded the next corner…

…and found myself confronted by five SHIELD agents, all aiming their handguns directly at my head.

"Fire!"

I wasn't sure who gave the order, but I barely had time to duck behind the corner again before five bullets embedded themselves in the wall where my head had been only moments ago. Moving quickly, I flipped my handgun out of its holster and launched myself across the hallway, firing three rapid shots around the corner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two bodies fall. The other three fired off another round, which I avoided by a narrow margin as I ducked into another ruined office. I was used to taking risks. This was nothing compared to what I had done in the past, I told myself repeatedly—but that was a lie. _This was a Case Red._ I had always been on the offensive in such a situation, never the target. Those five agents would not be the only obstacles I would encounter.

I sprinted toward the window, swiftly tucking the gun under my belt, and punched out the glass pane. Before my pursuers came into view, I leaped out the window into a dangerous freefall: I was only five stories up in the air. Angling my body, I wrapped my hands around a bent streetlamp just before I hit the ground. I flipped, spinning around the pole several times before somersaulting through the air.

I hit the ground at a dead run and darted across the street, dodging emergency vehicles and firemen.

Would the Avengers come after me, or just those incompetent SHIELD agents? Barton was dead. Banner was probably either dead or in a coma. Thor had gone home to Asgard. Who was left? Tony Stark? Steve Rogers?

No sooner had I thought the name than a faint humming noise came from behind me, followed immediately by a large, round object whizzing just inches past the top of my head. It pinged off the brick wall before me and went flying back the way it had come.

Captain Rogers.

Without looking over my shoulder, I increased my pace, dashing across the pavement and into the parking garage. Only a few people were in the underground lot, and they were on the other side of the garage space.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and I heard someone else's frantic breaths echoing through the parking garage. My eyes searched for an escape route, but the nearest "way out" was an elevator a few feet to my right.

Making a quick detour, I darted inside and pressed the button that would shut the door, hoping that Rogers was farther behind me than he sounded: everything was amplified in these tunnels…

I whirled around, bracing myself against the back of the elevator, whipping my handgun out of its holster. To my horror, Rogers was a mere six paces away. The elevator door had almost shut when a gloved hand gripped the sides and wrenched it open again. I flattened myself into a corner and touched my finger to the trigger—but did not pull.

Rogers had his vibranium shield held in a defensive position. I lowered my weapon. If I fired, the bullet would bounce back, and I would inadvertently kill myself.

"Miss Romanoff."

I swallowed hard, unable to look him in the eye. "…Captain Rogers."

Then I fired the bullet into his left boot and kicked him squarely in the knee. He yelled and doubled over, and I tried to seize his shield. Instead I found myself smacked up against the side of the elevator again. Rogers had recoiled and was now at the opposite end of the tiny room. The elevator door shut once again and we began the ascent.

"I assume you're here to kill me," I asserted, casually reloading my handgun.

When I glanced up at him, the captain was shaking his head. "I'm here to put an end to this."

I tucked the gun away in my holster and crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Put an end to what?"

Captain Rogers met my gaze. "I don't know what Loki's done to you, but none of this is your fault… Fury gave the order yesterday. It was a Case Red even before we tracked Loki to the Veeraswamy and sent Banner after the two of you."

I looked away from Rogers and focused on the dent he had made in the door. So Banner had betrayed me? Or had someone else been listening in on his call? I didn't doubt SHIELD could trace Loki all the way to London, but it still surprised me that the demigod would be so careless. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice from shaking. "So those SHIELD agents lied…"

"Right." Rogers's voice had suddenly deepened, as if he was trying to hide some deep-set emotion. "They wanted to kill you as easily as possible. They were going to take you into custody, but they were never going to ship you back to SHIELD headquarters for interrogation. Fury was beyond that."

The elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors slowly slid open again, this time revealing an elegant hallway. I glanced sideways at the captain. "And you plan to do what with me, exactly?"

"Bring you back. In one piece." The open honesty in his expression almost won me over. The heart behind those steely blue eyes promised protection and a second chance. Another chance to prove myself friendly to SHIELD and her cause. A chance to go back… but to what?

Barton was dead.

The Avenger Initiative was in shambles.

And Fury, the ringleader of the entire insane organization, had just given orders to terminate me.

I let my gaze soften, genuine tears forming in my eyes, and took a step toward the captain, holding out my hand in a peace gesture. Ever trusting, he lowered his shield slightly and reached out as if to give me a reassuring touch on the arm.

As soon as he was close enough, I rammed my fist into his shoulder, simultaneously firing off one the Widow's Bites that were wrapped around my wrist. An electro-static pulse. Not enough to kill a supersoldier, but more than enough to stun him.

I turned and ran. I heard him groan behind me, but didn't look back. He would be up and hot on my trail soon enough.

I could have simply pulled out my knife and stabbed him in the ribcage.

I could have punched a hole through his midsection.

I could have killed him.

But I hadn't…

I sprinted around a bend in the hallway and knocked over several men wearing SHIELD uniforms. A few solid kicks ensured that they would not get up again. When I looked up, It was only to see another man and a blonde woman crouched at the opposite end of the corridor. I tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Both guns went off, one after the other.

The first bullet whizzed inches past my ear, and the second went straight through my shoulder. Hissing in pain, I made use of the new abilities Loki had bestowed on me and kicked open the nearest door. This time, I only bruised my toes. At least, they didn't hurt quite as bad as they had when I'd kicked Stark's Iron Man helmet.

I should have just walked through the darned thing. Why did these revelations always occur after the fact? Remembering that would have saved me a lot of trouble early on. I darted inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

The office had no windows. Instead of trying to find an exit, I crouched behind the table, pulling out both guns and aiming them directly at the door.

There were footsteps in the hallway, and then a muffled voice spoke from behind the door calling for reinforcements, followed by the buzzing reply of a walkie-talkie.

I glared at the handle as the latch jiggled, and readjusted my grip on the handguns.

If a diversion was what Loki wanted, a diversion he would get…

The agents blasted through the door before I could fully prepare myself. Boots pounded into the office, so many that the floor vibrated. Almost immediately, the wood table began to splinter around me, accompanied by the roar of machine guns. Darting behind an upholstered chair, I fired blindly, straining my ears for the sound of bullets bouncing off metal. There was none. The Captain wasn't here yet.

Relieved, I rose up a little bit and actually began to aim at the SHIELD agents. One by one they fell, but more and more kept coming. And for each shot I squeezed off, another dozen lodged in the chair and the walls around me. My shoulder throbbed and burned, the wound coating my side with slippery blood. I could tell that my aim was beginning to falter. Fewer and fewer shouts erupted with each shot. Suddenly, I heard a sharp ping. I fired again in the same general direction. The sound repeated: Captain America had recovered. Luckily, he didn't come any closer.

I fumbled for my last cartridge, hands slick with my own blood. When I ran out of bullets mere minutes later, exhaustion and pain had finally jeopardized my eyesight; a dark haze clouded my vision.

Desperate, I looked behind me for an escape but found none. My brain whirled, trying to focus and find a way out, but all I saw was the leather back of the chair. Any second now, the agents, probably led by the Captain, would come around the corner.

I needed to... I needed to... Do something. Something... Run... No... I needed to—

A blast of frigid air.

"I didn't say commit suicide, dear."

"Loki!" Steve shouted.

The demigod's hand closed on my upper arm and darkness overwhelmed me. I didn't know if it was unconsciousness or teleportation at first. But when I woke up on the couch of what I had mentally dubbed the "forest home," I knew that it had been the former. I sat up and was about to reach for my shoulder to test for pain when I saw him.

Captain America was sitting on the carpet where Loki had been, trussed up in heavy chains like some sort of wild beast, gagged, and staring at me with wide eyes. Loki, livid, stood over him with arms crossed.

Behind them, the living room had been completely destroyed. Bits of fabric, pots, and broken picture frames littered the ground. Several walls were heavily dented. In one corner, Steve's shield, still perfect, rested.

With a scowl on his face, Loki announced: "We have a guest, Natasha."

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**


	16. Captain America

"How did he get here?" I asked timidly, getting up, keeping my eyes locked on Steve's.

"He grabbed onto you after you passed out, right before I cast the spell." Loki's hard voice trailed off. "We fought-"

"Obviously."

"And I won."

"Also obvious." I wasn't sure what prompted my sarcasm. Maybe it was the relief of being alive, or my shock at seeing the Captain overpowered by Loki.  
In any case, Loki turned his scowl upon me. "I am in no mood for your flippancy," he said. "Your distraction succeeded, barely. My Plan continues to advance, but Banner is still at large. He might prove to be a major obstacle..." Loki frowned down at Steve, arms crossed over his chest. The Captain looked up at him, eyes narrowed and defiant. "But, we are now merely engaged in a game of patience."

"What are we waiting for?" I asked cautiously. "And what about Captain Rogers?" For the sake of appearances, I had to act indifferent to the man's captivity. I didn't really want Loki to kill him... Did I? Was I that far gone?

"We are waiting for it to become obvious that the Prime Minister is suffering withdrawal."

I glanced at Steve. Loki was being so open... That didn't bode well. "Alright. And in the meantime?"

Loki gave me a long look. "Follow me," he ordered, heading for the second level. Loathe as I was to leave Steve, I trailed after the demigod a little shakily. Obviously I wasn't completely recovered from my "distraction". Loki held open the door to the guest room, motioning for me to precede him inside. Would he ever decide if he was a gentleman or not? He closed the door behind us and examined me.

"I'll get you more clothes," he said. "You will stay here and make sure _Captain America_," he sneered, "stays put. I will be gone for a short while to check up on something. Do not let him know that I have left. Do not aid him if he attempts to escape. Do not help him, period. Have I made myself clear?"

"As crystal," I muttered.

"Good. The kitchen downstairs contains food for you. Do not feed Captain America. There are clean clothes in the closet, and the bathroom is equipped. I suggest you clean up." Loki's upper lip curled a touch. "Your fragrance is not exactly reminiscent of the Asgardian Gardens."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

"My pleasure." Loki smiled charmingly, then vanished on the spot.

Without hesitating, I ran back downstairs to Steve. "We have to be fast," I said breathlessly, dropping to my knees beside him. More than half of me was screaming that I obey Loki: disobedience always led to pain. But my years with SHIELD, with Barton, had taught me that good is not to be wasted in the world. And Steve seemed to embody it. I may not be able to stay in the light, but Steve could. He deserved to live. In any case, I owed him for saving my life back in London.  
I groped at his many chains, trying to find a way to loosen them. My hands found a padlock.

"Mph," Steve grunted though the gag.

"Right." I quickly untied it and tossed it to the side.

"Loki mentioned that the chains could not be broken by a _mere mortal_," Steve explained. "And he had the key with him. I don't know-"

"Hang on. Loki gave me partial Asgardian strength... I might be able to do this."

"He gave you what?" Steve cried.

Ignoring him, I grabbed a section of chain and pulled hard. It didn't snap, unsurprisingly, but the metal bent. Thinking fast, I took the links that had bent and jammed them under the loop on the padlock. They fit, barely. Then I grabbed the padlock in one hand and placed the heel of my palm on the end of the metal link. Taking a deep breath, I counted to three, and then shoved down and in.

There was a flash of sharp pain in my palm, and then a satisfying pop as the latch came open. It took me several minutes to unravel the heavy chains, but as soon as Steve's hands were freed, he did the rest himself.

Once he was rid of his restraints, he rose to his feet, brushing off his Captain America ensemble. He jogged over to the wall to grab his shield and then made tracks for the front door. "Come on. We have to get out of here. Loki might—"

I held up a hand for him to wait and stalked toward the stairs. "No. First, we're going to find out what he's up to," I demanded. Steve didn't follow me.

"Not until you answer my questions."

I stopped walking, and then slowly turned to face him. His forehead was wrinkled in bemusement and concern, and an unruly lock of blonde hair fell over his left eyebrow. "I… Listen, we don't have much time…"

"We have enough."

His firm reply didn't leave much room for argument. Resigning myself to a brief interrogation, I nodded for him to continue.

"Why is Loki trying to sabotage the Prime Minister?"

I rolled my eyes. "He didn't tell me. Next question."

"Where are we?"

"I wish I knew. Probably somewhere in the States."

Then Steve's eyebrows narrowed slightly, and his voice became a bit more urgent. "Where is the Tesseract?"

That gave me pause. I frowned, dozens of related peculiarities now rising in my mind. "He never mentioned it, actually." I mulled that thought over for a moment. The Plan that Loki had shared bits and pieces of with me had never, to my knowledge, involved the Tesseract. Was it possible that he wanted nothing more to do with the cube? Or was this simply his back-up plan?

Steve placed a hand on my shoulder. I let it rest there for the moment. It was gentle, warm and caring; not an unpleasant feeling. Very different from Loki's icy, inhuman touch. "What about you?"

I shifted my weight to the other foot and swallowed quietly. "What about me?" I quietly turned his own question around.

"How did you get mixed up in all this?"

Sighing uncomfortably, I shrugged off his hand and resumed my march down the hall. "Hawkeye died. I wanted revenge. Confronted Loki. Lost the fight," I stated in a monotone voice, as if it were really that simple.

Steve followed me up the stairs. "That still doesn't explain why he treats you like his second-in-command!" he accused.

"I freed you, didn't I?" I mumbled, suddenly feeling defensive.

"Why do you follow his orders? Get out of here while you still can!"

That stung me more than anything else the supersoldier had said. I whirled on him, seething with rage. "I am in chains!" I growled, a red haze creeping over my line of sight and veiling Steve's startled face. "I'm nothing more than an exalted slave! Don't you think I would have run away long ago if I could have? I tried! Rebellion leads to suffering—I have suffered enough! You don't know what he's done…"

Steve listened to my tantrum in silence, and even when I was finished, he said nothing for several minutes. When the haze cleared, his expression was solemn and pensive. I thought I saw a tear-track glistening on his cheek.

Then he said, "Everybody has something they would die for. Even the cruelest man in the worst town of the poorest country in the world." He glanced down for a moment, and then met my eyes again, his next words slow and careful. "But it takes someone with real courage to _suffer_ for what they know is right."  
Guilt and shame fell over my mind like a thick, black mist. I dropped my gaze and turned around, hurrying up the rest of the stairs. "We have to be quick," I muttered, my throat tightening and my eyes burning with unshed tears.

Thankfully, having said his piece, Steve did not push the issue. Instead, he caught up to me and matched my stride as I moved swiftly through the upstairs library and down the hall. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"Well, he probably wouldn't just stuff the Tesseract in the closet, so I don't know," I admitted, "but we're going to find it, whatever it is…"  
Steve didn't put forth any more questions, simply letting me lead for the time being.

I decided it would be useless to check the guest room, since it was unlikely that the demigod would put anything important right under my nose. But of the remaining two upstairs bedrooms, I wondered which Loki would have chosen? It wasn't all that hard to decide: the biggest one available, naturally.

I stopped in front of the first door on the left, the smaller room of the two, and tried the handle. It opened freely, and I peered inside. The room looked uninhabited. Unwilling to waste my time, I decided to try the other door.

This time the handle turned halfway and stuck.

A slow smile curved my lips.

Locked.

That was a sure sign Loki didn't want me in this particular room, for when I had first explored the house, the door had stood wide open.

Using the same pressure it had taken to break the padlock on Steve's chain—a considerable amount of strength—I yanked on the handle. It didn't budge. Magically sealed, no doubt.

Furrowing my brow, I glanced over my shoulder at Steve. "It's locked," I complained, letting go of the handle and reaching out to push against the smooth surface with both hands. Steve and Loki had already completely trashed the living room. One more broken item probably wouldn't make a difference.  
Instead of connecting with the door, however, my hands went right through the painted wood and I fell forward. Unprepared, I hit the floor with enough force to take my breath away.

"Miss Romanoff!" The Captain's startled cry was muffled from behind the door. Before I could quite get my bearings, I felt two strong hands grab my ankles and yank me back out into the hallway. I lay flat on my stomach for several seconds, breathing hard. The unexpected fall had scared me silly. I made up my mind then and there to confront Loki about my Second Power and what it entailed. Sometimes I fell straight through the obstruction—like I had in Stark Tower—but other times—like back in London when I had punched through the glass window—I could make physical contact with the object. As a matter of fact, what kept me from just falling right down through the _floor?_

"Are you alright?"

It took me a moment to process the inquiry, but when I did, I nodded my head, slowly getting up and brushing off my leather pants. "Yeah… I'm fine. And I won't have any problem getting inside."

Steve still appeared slightly shocked, face pale and eyes wide. "What was that?" he demanded.

"I'm sort of…" I waved my hand around in the air, trying to think of the right word. "…insubstantial."

Steve blinked, and then took a deep breath, as if searching for the patience to endure another of my cryptic, unhelpful replies. "I won't ask."

"Please don't." Reaching out, I put one hand through the door again. A new idea struck me. "Maybe if you hold my hand, you can follow me through the door."

Steve's eyebrows went straight up, but the look on his face was more of curiosity than disbelief. "How does that work?"

"When Loki cast the teleportation spell, and you grabbed me, you got teleported along with us. He must have cast a spell over me, too… It might work the same way."

"Worth a try," Steve agreed, blue eyes brightening.

I held out my gloved hand, and he took it firmly in his. "Ready?"

He gave me a tight smile. I strode forward—and passed through the door. I did not stop walking until I was standing in the middle of the bedroom. When I looked down, my hand was still wrapped in Steve's larger one, and I allowed myself a rare grin. Although Loki had indeed given me my abilities with the intention of gaining a powerful ally, he may have inadvertently created a formidable enemy… should I choose to stand against him in the end.

_But you won't, will you?_

My cocky smile faded as I surveyed the large bedroom and its contents. A king-size bed stood against one wall, covered by a pine-green blanket much the same color as the trees outside the window. Crisp white sheets had been folded neatly over an equally white pillow and case. Beside the bed was a nightstand, and on the stand sat a modern lamp with a sculpture of a rearing horse as the base. The closet doors were closed, but next to them were a writing desk and a chair. In the opposite corner rested a dresser of some kind. The curtains had been pulled over the window, barely letting in enough light to illuminate the room.

Steve had pulled back the curtains and raised the blinds, lending the room a much less foreboding atmosphere, and was already moving toward the closet. I quickly crossed to the opposite side of the room to investigate the desk.

It was ornate, laced with delicate scrollwork and expensive varnish. There was nothing lying on top, but trusting instinct, I thrust my hand beneath the edge. My fingers brushed a latch.

Twisting hard, I felt something give way, and pulled. A slender drawer slid out from beneath the desk. Within rested a thick manila folder. Curious, I reached in and flipped it open. The contents were immediately recognizable—these were the documents he had tried to hide from me in Tonsberg.  
A thrill of excitement shot down my spine. Without the slightest hesitation, I pulled out the folder and slapped it on the desk, sifting through the papers. The familiar heading, "Classified – Special Handling," caught my eye.

Ah, yes… this was the one: _Justification for SHIELD to begin research project._

What research project? And why would it interest Loki? Holding the paper gently between my fingertips, I began at the top and slowly worked my way down, determined to read every single word.

_RE: Chicago Project_

_Certain parties have become aware of SHIELD's advances in genetic manipulation. An executive decision has been made to transfer Agent Clint Barton to the Biogenetic Research Center at Phoenix until further notice. _  
_Emergency protocol has been initiated. All candidates for the Chicago Project, as well as Barton's eidetic memory files, have been evacuated._  
_However, despite unforeseen risks, a recent breakthrough has prompted the swift advancement of Stage 209. Agent Clint Barton is due to arrive at the safe house at 14:00 two months earlier than the planned date to begin the procedure._  
_It is understood that the Chicago Project must remain hidden from the eyes of the general public for some time. While genetic engineering and cloning have both risen significant levels in the past years, the world is not ready to accept the ethics of the Chicago Project._  
_Further updates will be sent after the procedure._

There was no signature, or even a symbol at the bottom of the crisp white paper. Hands shaking, I replaced the sheet in the folder and began to dig through the rest. Nothing else mentioned the Chicago Project, but a strange reference caught my eye in the middle of a list of various obscure legends. A quick scan of the document revealed that it had been sent to someone shortly after Thor's first arrival on Earth. At the top, a single line had been scrawled in blue ink.

_If Norse myths and gods are alive, what other horrors are out there?_

I didn't recognize most of the names. Mordred sounded vaguely familiar, as did Thanos. But what had originally caught my attention was Chthon the Elder God. Apart from being significantly longer then, say, Set, there was a bold _(The Other?). _I opened my mouth to ask the Captain about it when a piece of paper slipped out of my hand. At first, I thought it was blank. Then I turned it over and saw two lines.

_FW: The Chicago Prj._  
_Success. No adverse effects to subject (Agent Clint Barton)._

Sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. I stared at the paper, no longer seeing the words on the page. Barton had never mentioned anything about this—

"Miss Romanoff."

I hastily shoved the papers back in the desk and turned around to see Steve kneeling in front of the dresser. Every single drawer had been pulled open. He was looking over his shoulder at me, and his expression hinted that he was experiencing some bewilderment.

"Do you have any idea…?"

"Nope." I walked as quickly as I could over to where he had strewn what appeared to be a hundred t-shirts.

"Do you have any idea why Loki would want so many t-shirts?" he finished his question anyway.

"Nope," I said again.

"Do you know what he's up to?" Steve hesitated. "Because I saw you looking at something—"

I shook my head. "Just some stupid bills from whoever actually owns the house." I shivered involuntarily. Cold sweat still beaded on the back of my neck. Barton had been involved in something I had never known about? Something... weird? What did genetic manipulation have to do with it all?

"You... you should go," I said. "Loki will be back any second now."

Steve gave me a long, sorrowful look. "Are you sure you can't fight back? How hard would it be to walk away from all of this?"

"He made me promise."

"Since when have you had good morals?" I looked up sharply, but Steve had already clapped a hand over his mouth as if he could take back his words.

"Loki has made it clear, several times, that any violation of my promise will result in more pain." My voice shook, but my fists were clenched so tight it hurt and my eyes were narrowed so that I could barely see. "Believe me, I hate this. All of this. But you obviously don't think I'm smart enough to figure out that Loki's the bad guy, so—"

"Natasha!" Steve dropped his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it..."

"Get out," I said coldly.

"Natasha..."

"OUT!"

Looking remarkably like a scolded puppy, Steve eased over to the window, head down.

_He's off guard. You could take him out. Right now._

I winced, even though the traitorous thoughts hadn't hurt. Not physically, at least. Was I becoming like Loki?

I remained frozen in the middle of the bedroom as Steve broke the latch and began to clamber out. Halfway through, Steve paused again.

"If you find anything..."

"Go." I turned my back to him, mind spinning, and shut my eyes. Barton hadn't told me something important and probably dangerous, Loki's dark mindset was rubbing off on me, and Steve had to leave. Sure, it was beyond dangerous for him to stay here. But what about me? What would happen to me when Loki came back and discovered that his prisoner was gone?

I twisted around and opened my mouth to call for Steve just in time to hear him drop to the ground a story below.

Feeling unwanted tears form in the corners of my eyes, I ran to the window and looked down. He was already sprinting through the trees, his shield strapped to his back. Even though I had worked alongside him as one of the team, his strength and agility still astonished me.

When he reached the top of the rise, he turned around. By that time he was too far away to see any details of his face, but I knew he was looking at me.

He saluted.

And then he was gone.

I stood at the window for a long while, waves of remorse crashing over me. Remorse for what? Remorse for not running away with Steve? Remorse for betraying Loki? Maybe both?

A gentle wind blew into the room, rustling the dark curtains that Steve had tied back and trying to play with my hair. It was so greasy and grime-filled that it stuck to my face.

Maybe he would come back…

I sighed, sinking down to sit beneath the window, the top of my head just brushing the edge of the sill, and folded my hands in my lap. Yes. Steve would come back. He would reunite the Avengers. Nick Fury would clear the charges against my name. Barton would be alive, waiting to greet me, to hold me, to reassure me. I would be part of the team again. I would go back to the life I knew and craved. And I would be…

…happy.

I don't know long I sat there in brooding silence, letting my imagination run wild, but after a time I shook myself out of my stupor and got to my feet. Reality hit: I was in Loki's room. That alone was a major faux pas. But intruding on his personal space wasn't the worst of it. I had rummaged through his stolen paperwork. I had tracked dirt onto his carpet. Steve had created a blizzard of white T-shirts on the floor around his dresser. The lock on his window was now broken. And his prisoner had been freed.

Loki would not be thrilled about any of that. Not at all.

Panicking now, I slammed the window closed and tried desperately to fix the lock. It was not an entirely successful endeavor, but I did manage to make it _look_ somewhat normal. After repairing the damage as best I could, I lowered the blinds and pulled the drapes closed once again. Then I hurried to the desk and the previously hidden drawer. With painstaking neatness, I arranged the papers exactly as I had found them in the file, and then placed the file exactly as it had lain in the bottom of the desk. Knowing Loki, he would notice if it was even a centimeter removed from its original position.

Then I hastily stuffed all of the T-shirts back in the dresser drawer, not taking the time to fold any of them, and pushed it shut. The wood creaked in protest, but once I had finished, not a hint of a sleeve poked out. Done.

There wasn't much I could do about the dirt on the carpet. Grimacing, I simply left the mess and ran through the door and out into the hallway. If I had time afterwards, I would grab some paper towels and try to clean the floor.

Right now the important thing was to clean _myself_ up. Loki had not seemed at all impressed with my bloody clothes and stench of sweat, to no wonder, and the thought crossed my mind that he might be more favorably inclined toward me if I looked pretty.

Maybe it was a stupid idea.

Maybe it wasn't.

Whether or not my plan was logical didn't matter to me at the moment. I was too panicked to think clearly anyway. At least I was doing something…  
I don't think I'd ever taken a more nerve-wracking shower. _Ever._ But when I was finished, I was refreshed and able to think a bit more clearly. From the guest room closet—which was well-supplied, as Loki had promised—I chose some comfortable stretch-jeans and a black, form-fitting shirt with long sleeves and sequins sewn along the hem and neckline. I couldn't find any shoes or socks, so I just left my feet bare.

Once I was dressed and had applied some of the flattering name-brand makeup I had found in my dresser, I padded quietly down the hallway toward the stairs. The next and last thing on my agenda was to clean up the dirty footprints on the bedroom carpet.

I had almost reached the kitchen when something strange suddenly occurred to me. I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. The chains and discarded gag that had bound Steve Rogers less than an hour ago were nowhere to be seen.

Could Steve have moved them when I wasn't looking? Unlikely. But nonetheless, I looked behind the couch. The floor was empty.

Either the chains had magically disappeared for no apparent reason… or I was not as alone as I'd thought. The most obvious assumption would be that Loki had returned.

But if he had been here that long, why hadn't he come to see me earlier? Why hadn't I stumbled upon him in the living room? There was no logical answer. The more I thought about it, the more suspicions formed in my mind—each more frightening than the last.

Thoroughly unnerved, I continued, slowly and cautiously, toward the kitchen. Once I had retrieved the paper towels and dampened half of them with water from the sink faucet, I slunk down the hall, avoiding eye contact with the doors. I had never felt more vulnerable to attack. _Would_ Loki attack me? Could he? Was he lying in wait somewhere in the house? Hiding in my closet? Under the bed?

All manner of ridiculous ideas flooded my mind. If he was going to kill me, he should have done it the moment he saw that his prisoner was gone. He could undoubtedly terminate my life with a word and a wave of his hand.

When I reached the upstairs hallway, I paused, my eyes glued to the door of his room. It was still closed, exactly as I had left it. Perhaps there was time to clean up my mess. Or perhaps it was time to jump out the nearest window and run through the forest, yelling for Steve.

Firming my chin and narrowing my eyes, I marched down the hallway and stood before the door. Not a sound from within.

Cautiously, I reached one hand through the door, and waited for those familiar cold fingers to grab my wrist and drag me the rest of the way through.

Nothing happened.

Somewhat relieved, I entered the room as quickly as possible and immediately turned my gaze to the bed. No Loki. He wasn't by the dresser either, or sitting at the writing desk. I took one step forward, holding out a damp paper towel—and froze.

The drapes had been pulled back slightly. I hadn't left them like that.

And then I felt it. Something I had felt only twice before in my life. But I had given it more times than I could count, and it had signaled the death of every target I had ever hunted:

_The stare. _

The prickling sensation of unfriendly eyes zeroing in on your blind spot.

The pressing urge to look behind you, but the morbid fear of what you would see.

Taking a deep breath, I whirled around, sinking into my well-practiced defensive stance, but before I could so much as cry out, every ounce of air in my lungs was suddenly leeched away.

He stood there, rigid, back against the wall. His nostrils flared in anger, despite the lack of emotion in any other aspect of his face, and his eyes were so dilated that only the barest hint of green encircled his pupils. They were black, empty, soulless. His right hand was clenched into a fist. His left was reaching toward me, slowly and deliberately.

I couldn't move.

Loki brushed my arm with his fingertips, and I felt him shaking with unspeakable rage. His pupils slowly contracted, letting the bright and jaded green of his irises show through. "_What have you done?"_

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel_  
_**


	17. A Benevolent Rule

Loki brushed my arm with his fingertips, and I felt him shaking with unspeakable rage. His pupils slowly contracted, letting the bright and jaded green of his irises show through. "_What have you done?"_

The words were a bare whisper. I had never heard him use that voice before. Never… My throat constricted, and I found it impossible to make a sound.

"SPEAK NOW!" Loki roared, grabbing my shoulders with both hands and shaking me. His grasp was almost bruising.

I was used to rough treatment. I had been physically abused in almost every way possible. I was a Soviet science experiment turned assassin. I had been stuck with needles, tested on, brainwashed, kicked, punched, bruised, and tormented. My life expectancy had been increased well above average—and my life quality had decreased drastically during those days.

It wasn't the pain…

It was the tone of his voice. The power he possessed. The hopelessness and despair I felt over betraying his trust. I hated his morals, his darkness, his conniving… but this time it was he who had been wronged. And I deserved far worse than a reprimand. Had I committed such an open act of defiance under the Russians or under SHIELD, I would have been terminated immediately.

I let out one choking sob and went completely limp in his iron grip. There was no way I could explain anything. There was nothing to explain.

Loki must not have been expecting such a display, because he let go of my shoulders and I stumbled backwards, feeling for some support. My fingertips brushed the desk and I slumped to the floor beside it, one hand grasping the edge. "I-I-I-" Stammering, I buried my face in my hands, muffling my sobs. "He's gone! And-and I'm not sorry!"

I felt a cold, hard hand grasp my arm. Loki knelt beside me. His voice was low and soothing in my ear, but the words made my heart quail in fear. "Her intent—_admirable_. Her betrayal—_unacceptable_. Would she had thought better of releasing my hostage…"

Unable to stand his cold, detached speech, I jerked away, trying in vain to wrench my arm out of his grasp. "If you are going to kill me," I said, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering, "you'll have to fight me first."

Loki released my arm, and I quickly retreated to the opposite side of the desk. "I'm afraid such a fight would be pathetically lopsided."

I was relieved to see that his eyes looked more human—if that term could be used—although his face was still several shades paler than normal.

"No, Natasha. I will not kill you." Before I could so much sigh in relief, he reached under the desk, turned the latch, and pulled open the drawer to reveal the manila folder. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he studied the packet. He did not touch it, merely sliding the drawer closed again. "But you are henceforth confined to this house. I have cast the appropriate spells; however, they are of such a nature that I would recommend you avoid testing them at any cost."

He slowly crossed the room to stand before the window, pulling back the drapes and placing a finger on the broken lock. "You will not leave."

Then he made his way to the dresser and began pulling out drawers, one after the other. Several rumpled T-shirts fell to the floor. "You will refrain from entering my room in the future."

Finally, he turned his unearthly gaze on me. "And you will go hungry until I see fit to feed you again."

I knew I had been lucky. I knew I could have been dead. But the fact that he was treating me like an unruly dog that needed to be starved before it could be beaten into submission did not sit well in my mind.

I sank down to the floor again, in a far corner, my knees tucked up to my chin and my arms around my legs. Loki had given me one pleasant dream of Barton. Would my next be a memory of the day he died? He had said nothing about the dreams… but I felt sick to my stomach at the thought that he could easily use them to his advantage.

_Not until I make him kill you._ Loki's words in the helicarrier had haunted me for days. _Slowly… intimately… in every way he knows you fear… He will awaken just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull._

I felt tears begin to leak down my cheeks, and I sniffled once. Back there, outside Loki's cylindrical prison, I had been putting on an act. Now my true emotions were on display. And I was helpless to stop it. I knew Loki was listening. "Did you mean it?"

He said nothing, but I felt his burning stare. He knew exactly what I was thinking. Perhaps it was not wise to provoke him after my earlier sins. My strangely mild punishment had already been pronounced, but there was nothing to stop him from changing it in an instant. But I could not stop myself.

"How… how can you justify… the horrors…" When I finally looked up at the demigod, my eyes were dry. I had been wallowing in self pity long enough. Captain America had left a heavy sense of guilt in his wake, and my fried emotions couldn't take any more. "Barton is dead, because of you. You would have killed Steve without a second thought. And Brita's mother…" My voice hardened and I let frost seep into my gaze. _Brita's mother_. I had not thought of her for some time now, but suddenly it seemed terribly important. "How do you explain such a senseless death?"

His eyes met mine. They were hollow, hard, and slightly more green than usual. "A necessary death." I recognized my own words from the hospital fire, and opened my mouth to retort, but he was too quick. "You blame me for my actions. What actions would you have taken?" The words were a mockery, not designed to be answered, but I gave him one anyway.

"I wouldn't have killed them."

"Ah, but you did." I averted my gaze, but heard him get up and walk across the carpet towards me, his steps soft. "You slaughtered Barton, not I."

"You made me do it! And what about Brita's mother?" My gaze flashed up to meet his once again. The wrath that simmered in the depths of his eyes frightened me.

"I am a king," he asserted calmly. "Do I not have the power of life and death over my subjects?"

I glared up at him, feeling cornered, and angry. "Why did you kill her?"

Loki laughed mirthlessly. "Why not?" He answered my question with a question, and then stated in a dark, pitiless voice, "She would only have been in the way."

Sensing that I had reached a dead end, I retraced my steps and tried another route: "Why her, and not me?" Perhaps that was a dangerous question. I didn't care.

That silenced him for a moment. "…What?"

"Why did you kill her, and not me?" I repeated, straightening my spine and leveling another glare at the demigod. "Am I not in your way? Am I not more trouble than I'm worth?"

He was silent for a lengthier amount of time, and I let myself smirk in satisfaction. As much as I hated to admit it now, I had made a valid point. First the Stark Tower incident… then nearly foiling his plans at Tonsberg… then bringing Banner to the Veeraswamy restaurant… not to mention my recent escapades involving a certain star-spangled prisoner.

Finally, he spoke through clenched teeth, staring down at me. "_You_ are useful. _You_ made a promise-keep it or not. I have plans for you, Natasha, and I am willing to overlook any immediate insubordination. That woman… was nobody."

I stared back at him, unmoved. Tears pressed almost painfully at the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I had to remain strong. "She was somebody to Brita."

Loki was silent, his expression as unchanging as stone.

I took a deep breath and continued. "She was somebody to Peter. And she had a name," I reminded him. "He called her 'Caroline.' She was his wife. Now she's dead, out of his reach on this side of eternity, and you have the audacity to stand above him and declare it a necessary death?!"

Still Loki's countenance was frozen. Keeping our eyes locked, I stretched my legs out, leaned toward him, and whispered coldly, "Have you ever been in love?"

He jerked away with such a vehement snarl that I flinched, recoiling against the wall. Loki stalked toward the window, and didn't stop until he was looking out, arms folded across his chest, chin lifted, back turned to me. I couldn't see his face.

"Have you?"

There was no reply.

I glared at the back of his head, feeling pangs of loneliness creep back into my soul. "Do you know what it's like to have your soul mate ripped from your arms?"

A gentle hiss floated across the room, chilling my bones. Steeling myself, I continued. "Then how do you justify knowingly causing someone else the same pain? Even if she was only a mortal." An edge entered my voice, and I realized then that in my rant, I had subconsciously reversed the roles of Peter and Caroline, for my memories were locked on Barton's graphic death.

"You think you know pain, _woman_?" Loki roared, whirling around. I set my jaw and glared resolutely at him, but my heart thudded hard against my ribcage. His eyes were dark once more, and this time he made no effort to hide his anger. "You dare confront me in such a manner? A brainwashed assassin. A killing tool. She who switches loyalties as easily as the wind changes direction!"

"At least I tried to make things right!" I shouted, getting to my feet and clenching my fists. "I was helping SHIELD rid the world of serial killers and lunatics like _you!_" I gestured sharply toward him. "And then _you_ had to come and- and drag me back to my horrors! _You_ made me live it all over again—and add more atrocities to my criminal record! _You_ are the reason I can never forget my past! And now…" I trailed off, chest heaving, heart pounding. I had been stalking across the room toward the demigod, the defiance in my voice building with each and every step, but now I stood in front of him, looking up. He towered over me.

"And now?" he repeated, his voice more quiet than it should have been.

I fought to get my temper firmly under control, and whispered, "And now… I am even worse off than I was before. I am a slave. Your _loyal pawn,_" I spat. "Held captive by a vain promise made to save the life of the only man who ever truly knew me—and loved me in spite of my faults." My voice broke. I felt Loki's cool fingertips brush my arm, and leaned away. "You- you put me in chains!" I ground out, glaring up at him.

"You are freer under my benevolent rule than you would be obeying Director Fury's every childish whim."

"Benevolent?" I snarled. "You admit you are a tyrant! A living personification of the most horrible, despicable, self-imposed rule that mankind ever invented!"

"With pride," Loki growled, snapping his fingers inches away from my nose. The quick gesture was so unexpected that I leaped backwards in surprise, bumping into the edge of the desk. "I am not a man, nor do I have any kinship with mankind. I am above them, and I mean to bring peace to this world! Humans are a savage race—idle and uncivilized. Midgard is the only world in this universe that is divided among so many squabbling, irrational governments. When I come to power, I will establish a kingdom far greater than any empire they could ever hope to build."

"You're insane," I said, attempting to laugh. The sound that came out was a sort of strangled intake of breath.

"I am doing what is needed to bring those humans to order," he said stiffly, moving so that he was inches away, looming over me in a dark, foreboding manner.

I shrunk away, shaking all over from a combination of rage and fear. Yet even in my cowering state, I noticed that Loki left me out of his "humans" generalization. Unsure of how to respond, I lowered my voice, more afraid now than angry. "What did you do to Brita?"

Loki's frozen glare turned slightly colder… and then, without warning, grew soft again. His icy green eyes melted around the edges. "She is unharmed."

"And Peter?"

This answer was long in coming, but the sinking feeling in my gut warned me of its cruel nature before the word had left his mouth: "Dead."

I sighed shakily, and swiped a damp strand of hair out of my face. "What about Brita? Where is she?"

Loki did not answer, and I felt my heart plummet two stories down and through the basement. Exhausted, I shook my head and made to leave. Nine silent steps carried me to the door. I did not look back at Loki once, though the urge never left me. I was the traitor, the turncoat—and yet I felt, somehow, that I had been wronged as well. Betrayed. Lied to. And I supposed, in some small way, that I had. I tried to put a hand through the door, but my fingers touched the glossy wood and did not penetrate. Bewildered and upset, I grasped the handle and opened the door, stepping out into the hall.

"Natasha."

I froze. His voice was soft… guarded but gentle. He had said my name many times before, but never like that. It was a different tone than any I had ever heard. Not even Clint's tender endearments had sounded so inviting, so sweet to my ears.

I choked soundlessly, tears welling in my eyes.

Then I shut the door behind me with a slam that rattled the windows.

I was not sure how long I lay in the guest room, staring up at the ceiling and weeping bitter tears, before sleep finally overcame me. I surrendered to it willingly, expecting a horrible dreaming but still hoping for a pleasant one.

Yet the dream that came was more strange than pleasant, full of winding corridors and dark mists. It was not a memory… nor even a memory of a memory…

_I wandered through the empty halls and ancient corridors of some long-forsaken temple. My breath made clouds in the air before me, and the crumbling paths I trod were frozen. I was cold, but I could not shiver, for the ice had seeped into my heart as well, numbing me from the inside out. I was a hopeless wanderer, forever lost, pursuing endless paths—but I knew that I was not alone: the soft padding of booted feet followed me closely. I heard murmurs of a familiar voice in my ear, but it came and went like a breath of wind. I felt his touch on my shoulder, but it disappeared as soon as I turned my head. I smelled the sweet scent of leather and pine, and I saw his shadow on the wall, flitting in and out of existence like sunlight on a cloudy day…_

When I awoke, it was to the patter of rain on the roof overhead. I didn't bother trying to remember where I was. The bed I lay in was warm, and there seemed to be no immediate danger. A positively wonderful way to wake up. I smiled, keeping my eyes closed and huddling under the sheets, my strange dream and the night before already half-forgotten. I loved the rain. I loved to listen to it... and see it cascading down from the dark clouds to flood the streets and wash away the refuse. "God's Tears," I had once heard it called, in a poem, a long time ago. I refused to believe such a thing, unless they were tears of joy and blessing.

When I finally forced my eyes open, I found myself staring across the room out the window. The shades were open, and rain streaked down the pane in wide, glossy rivulets that distorted the dark green foliage outside in weird and wonderful ways. It was calming, and I would have drifted off to sleep again if I had not been suddenly alarmed by the remembrance that I had, in fact, closed my blinds before crawling under the covers.

That meant that somebody had come into my room while I was sleeping and opened them.

Narrowing my still-bleary eyes and hurling mental insults at Loki, I stifled a yawn and glanced at the alarm clock standing on the nightstand. 5:35 A.M. Annoyed with myself for sleeping so long, I threw back the covers and touched my bare feet to the carpet, running my hands through my hair and wondering just how badly I had smeared my makeup with my tears. Sleeping with it on couldn't have been good for me either.

Not two seconds later, there was a muffled knock at my door.

"Oh, _now_ he decides to be a gentleman," I grumbled sleepily, getting to my feet and stretching. When I reached the door, I flung it open rather ungracefully, already getting myself worked up into another frenzy.

But when I comprehended the sight that greeted me, I blanched. Loki was standing before me, but dressed only in his black tunic, and wearing no helmet. His long dark locks were plastered to his sallow cheeks, and he was sopping wet. The familiar green eyes were wide and cold, as usual, but it was not his regal face that commanded my attention.

It was the limp little body he clutched protectively to his chest. One that was horribly familiar...

I stared, and then mouthed, 'Brita?'

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**


	18. The Raven

Without a word, Loki handed the soaking wet bundle to me. I had no time to think about what I was doing, but surrendered to the maternal instincts that suddenly overpowered me. Brita. This was an orphan. This was a suffering, innocent girl. But unlike the dying cries of the child whose memory had tormented me ever since the hospital fire, this was immediate.

"Get me towels," I demanded, carrying Brita to the bed and laying her cold body on the blanket. "And heat some water. Find a teakettle if you can, or just use a sauce pan. If there are any teabags in the cupboards, get one of those, too. Chamomile, preferably."

I didn't look behind me, but I knew Loki had gone to fetch what I needed. Feeling rather frantic, I grabbed one of Brita's hands. Her heart was beating. She was breathing regularly. And she was only a little cold. Not so much that she was in danger of hypothermia, but enough to arouse a strange sense of protectiveness that I neither liked nor understood.

"Towels." The word was smooth and abrupt. I turned around to see Loki standing in the doorway once again. "And tea."

He waved his hand through the air, and three warm towels appeared on the bed. Then he extended a cup of steaming tea. It was probably too hot for the child, but it would cool off soon enough.

I ignored the proffered tea and gently massaged Brita's hands, speaking softly to her in Russian. It only took a few moments for her to slowly blink her large brown eyes open, but she must have been deep in sleep. I wondered if it had been magically induced; Loki, as I well knew by this time, had very little patience when it came to childish hysterics, and Brita was as good as any other four-year-old at making a spectacle of herself.

When I glanced behind me, I saw that Loki had vanished, and the tea was sitting on the nightstand.

With a groan, I began removing all of Brita's wet things and bundling her up in the towels. When she was awake enough to start crying, which didn't take long, I shushed her and blew on the tea, trying to cool it off before offering it to her.

To my shock and relief, she stopped her probably justified wailing after several minutes, and actually drank some of the now-cool tea. I sang fragments of the old Russian lullaby while trying to make her as comfortable as possible. She was not as cold as I had first assumed, and I found my worries fading as the minutes ticked by.

Once I finally coaxed her asleep again, I closed the blinds and tried to leave. I say 'tried' for a reason—it was harder to turn my back on her than I had thought it would be, and it took me several minutes to even summon the courage to leave her there, all by herself, trundled up in my twin bed.

When I did decide to abandon the little waif to her dreams, I trudged slowly down the stairs, almost tripping once or twice. I was tired and befuddled by the whole bizarre situation.

Loki was already sitting at the kitchen table, his hands around a mug of… something. The pungent scent of coffee floated across the kitchen, and I felt my mouth watering. There was another mug across from him, at the other end of the table, which I assumed was mine.

There were several minutes of relative silence. I glanced inside the mug—coffee, as I had expected—and eventually sat down at the table with a loud sigh. Loki, in typical Loki fashion, made no effort at all to conceal his piercing stare. I met it, but without as much open scrutiny. He lifted the coffee to his lips and sipped slowly, green eyes bright as he peered at me over the rim of the mug.

Finally my curiosity grew to be too heavy a burden, and I sighed, tapping my fingers on my mug. "There is a four-year-old upstairs. Sleeping. On my bed. I would like to know why…"

Loki lowered his coffee mug and raised both eyebrows at me. "Your rash words last night have earned you that which you desired. Brita has been spared from the swift and painless mercy killing that awaited her, and is no longer my problem."

I opened my mouth to assault him with my old accusations of his obvious moral defects, but suddenly stopped, realizing what he had just implied. "Wait… so she's _my_ problem now?"

"In case you had not noticed, I am quite busy as it is. A mewling mortal offspring is the least of my concerns," Loki stated placidly, draining the last of his coffee and setting it down on the table with a resounding _clunk_.

I bit my tongue and glanced down at my own mug in slight distaste. How was I to reply to such blatant superiority? I wanted to slap him, but that would be a bad decision… and besides, I was sitting all the way across the table.

Scowling, I lifted the mug to my lips and took one gulp of the thick black coffee within.

I gagged.

Not only was it way too hot for the inside of my mouth, but it from the taste of it, the stuff was probably almost as black as Loki's heart.

"Thanks," I coughed, making a face and getting up from my chair. Loki watched me with a look of utmost incredulity on his face as I poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and rinsed my mug. "What—" I coughed again "—what did you put in there?"

He blinked, apparently confused by my violent reaction to his preferred beverage. "Nothing," he said simply.

I poured myself a glass of water and downed it in one swallow. "That would be it," I moaned, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and making my way over to him. When I had seated myself once more, this time right next to Loki, I rested my elbows on the table and gave him a long, sideways glance. "I thought I was supposed to be helping you take over the world. I can't just stuff her in a tote bag and take her with me."

"Can't you?" Loki feigned a look of surprise. At least, I assumed it was feigned. He was such a master at lying, it was sometimes hard to interpret his expressions.

"Get real," I grumbled.

Loki's grin faded, and his forehead creased. "Get real? I do not understand."

"Uh," I said, buying time to think. As if Loki could not act any more unlike his usual self- especially compared to yesterday's row- here he was, admitting a weakness. _Perhaps I should use modern slang more often... _"It's an expression of... disbelief. I don't believe you're sincere."

"Ah." Loki leaned forward a touch, wrapping his long fingers around the off-white ceramic mug. "Well, Natasha, I assure you that I am very sincere. You may trust me."

I raised an eyebrow. "About everything?"

"In this particular moment," he said with a slight nod.

For a moment, I struggled to find the right words, but when that failed, I returned back to my previous question. "Brita isn't just... She isn't like a cat," I said. "I can't just leave her here alone to fend for herself while you whirl me about for any given length of time. Obviously you don't know much about human children... She needs constant care-"

"Then why aren't you caring for her?" Loki asked smoothly.

"Because- because she's sleeping!" I stuttered. "And you still haven't answered my question."

Unruffled, Loki took another drink of his coffee, dark green eyes never leaving mine. "I simply sought to do as you wished." A slightly mischievous smile curved his lips. "Brita will not die by my hands."

"She will need food," I insisted. "Which apparently I am not allowed." Immediately, I regretted my words. What if Loki had forgotten and—

A single glance at his now smug smile told me that the demigod hadn't.

"You are still under that restriction, mortal child or not."

With a sigh, I crossed my arms. "Restriction," I muttered. "Punishment, more like."

"Take it as you see fit," Loki said carelessly, draining the last of his coffee. "For now, you will stay here, in this house, and care for the child. It makes no difference to me if you decide to kill her or sustain her for the time being." With a little shrug, he rose from the table and vanished.

Closing my eyes to repress an outburst of frustration, I leaned back in my chair. Really, I should try to escape now. Hadn't Captain America's little guilt trip taught me anything? But no... Loki had put up some sort of magical barrier over his door, so why not the whole house? For lack of better things to do, I stood up and began to wander along the sides of the forest home, resisting the temptation to touch them and find out what would happen. It didn't take long for me to become bored with Brita still sleeping and Loki... off again.

I stopped in the living room and pushed back a heavy red curtain to peer outside. Like through the window in the kitchen, all I could see were trees. And trees. And trees. But above them, I could see blue sky: apparently the rain had gone away for the moment. I couldn't see the sun from where I was, but I could tell from the palest of reds that tinged the clear sky that morning had just dawned. As I stared out, mesmerized by the beautiful landscape, I saw something like smoke billowing in the distance. Soon, it became apparent that it was not the product of a forest fire but rather the edges of a massive, dark raincloud. A storm was coming.

I let the curtain drop with a shudder and began to roam again.

For hours, I walked up and down the stairs, stewing in my own confusion, picking a book out of the small library and reading a page or two before putting it back, doing my best to entertain Brita. I dubbed the other upstairs bedroom hers, and tried to keep her there as much as possible. Luckily, she slept most of the time. My imagination came up with progressively worse scenarios that Loki could have left the poor girl in before rescuing her. Twice, Loki returned with food for Brita. I wasn't allowed to eat, which didn't really bother me. I had gone without food for great lengths before. I could do it again. The only problem was Loki's sense of time. Sometimes he moved so fast I could hardly keep up with him, but... he was also thousands of years old. I wondered how skewed my sense of time would be if I had suffered as many years as he had.

It wasn't until well after dark the storm finally came. I was lying in bed, comfortably tucked away under the blankets and dressed in the warm, white nightgown I had found in the dresser. The distant grumblings of thunder and sparks of lightning became sonic booms and blinding flashes. Rain pelted the roof of the house in a torrential downpour, and streaked across the window.

I didn't mind. It was not the worst storm I had ever been in. I was pretty sure the power would have been knocked out by now, and I was too lazy to get out of my warm, comfortable bed and shut the blinds, so I simply lay awake and listened to the rain.

I was startled out of my meditation when another bang shook my room—but this time it was caused by the door being flung against the wall. I jerked completely awake in an instant, my assassin reflexes kicking in, and sat straight up in bed.

Another flash lit up the window, and the light spilled into the hallway, illuminating Brita's ruddy, tear-streaked face. I had put her to bed a few hours ago, when the rain had started, expecting her to sleep through it.

Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky.

"Brita—" I began. At the exact same moment, an earth-shattering crash of thunder rattled the window-pane.

Brita didn't hesitate another second. She scampered across the floor and threw herself onto my bed. Unprepared for the assault, I tried to dodge her reaching arms, but she wrapped them around my waist, pressing her body as close to mine as possible. She was trembling so violently that I heard her teeth chattering.

Alarmed and irritated, I simply sat there, unmoving, for several minutes. Brita cried and moaned and sniffled, her tears wetting my nightgown. I felt utterly helpless. Was this was it was like to be saddled with a child? Attacked in the middle of the night by a hysterical four-year-old? Did this happen frequently, or just during thunderstorms?

My very small motherly side was now bereft of patience. Frustrated with the whole ordeal, I sighed and took her in my arms, rocking her back and forth. "What's…" I tried to make my voice as caring as possible. "What's wrong?"

Yet another roll of thunder shook the foundations of the house, and Brita promptly cuddled deeper into my half-hearted embrace. "Brita scared!" she squeaked, following it up with a strangled sob.

I patted her on the back. "Why?" I mumbled. Brita whimpered as more thunder echoed across the valley below us. I supposed it was a rather obvious question. Unfortunately, I knew of no cure for astraphobia. Either I made something up fast or I was stuck with a whining child until the storm left.

"It's just the… horses," I said slowly, not quite sure where I was going with this.

Brita snuggled closer.

"Heaven's horses." I cringed in the darkness. "They're… playing. In the clouds."

"Why is it so loud?" Brita cried brokenly as more lightning lit up the window. I waited until the thunder died away before continuing.

"Well… it's a lot of horses."

Brita was quiet for several minutes. Then, just as I was contemplating throwing myself out the window in my embarrassment, she asked softly, "Are there puppies, too?"

"Of course!" I was quick to assure her. "And, um… and kittens."

"Oh," Brita said, as if my improvised explanation had actually made sense. A doubtful prospect at best.

"Now will you go back to bed?" I pleaded.

My hopes were dashed as Brita burrowed under the covers. "No!" she insisted, peering at me from over the edge of the quilt with wide, wary eyes. Waves of dark auburn hair now adorned the pillow. "Brita sleep here!"

I glared down at her, shivering slightly in the cold. Ha. So she had tricked me out of my bed, and then stolen it. "Oh-kaaay…" I murmured. "Goodnight." I had risen halfway with the intentions of taking over the other bedroom when Brita suddenly grabbed my hand.

"No! Mama stay, too!"

I froze. _Mama?_

It was dark.

The child was scared.

And probably traumatized.

But her confusion still gave me the creeps.

"I'm not your mama," I growled, throwing open the drawer to the nightstand. There was a small flashlight in the very back. I knew because I had found it after my shower, during my frenzied search for a hairbrush. Flicking it on and finding the batteries fresh, I handed it to Brita, who appeared to be crying again. "That will protect you," I lied smoothly, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt. "And I'll be downstairs if you need me. I'll leave the door open, too. All right?"

Brita clutched the light in both soft hands and nodded. Relieved beyond words, I crossed the room to the closet and glanced over my shoulder. Brita was watching me closely, and the flashlight glowed dimly under the covers. There was another volley of thunder, and she jumped a little beneath the blankets, but did not make a sound.

Snatching a spare quilt from the top shelf, I hurried to the door and swept out into the hallway, draping the quilt over my shoulders like a cloak. Loki's door was closed, unsurprisingly. He couldn't have been asleep, but I didn't dare knock. Nor could I think of a reason to. Brita's door, however, stood wide open. I peeked inside. Her blinds had been haphazardly closed, the pillow was on the floor, and the bedsheets were rumpled. I almost smiled. I did feel sorry for her, and at least I had been awake when she had barged in the guest room.

_ My room_, I reminded myself. I might not like it, but I was probably going to be staying here for some time to come, if Loki's predictions had been accurate.

I reached the end of the hall and was about to step out into the library room when I saw something glowing softly in the corner. I automatically stopped, hiding as best I could in the shadows.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, the flickering, bobbing light of a solitary candle took shape in the semi-darkness. As did a tall, dark figure draped across the couch. Another flash lit up the two enormous picture-windows of the library room, accompanied by a loud crack of thunder.

A bluish light filled the room, drowning the gentle gleam of the candle. Loki's outline became crisp and bright. I saw the handsome curve of his nose, his angular cheekbones, and his downcast eyes. He was still dressed in nothing but his obsidian-black tunic, and his skin looked even paler than usual in the strange light. He held a thick book open in both hands, but the lightning flickered out before I could read the title. Rain drummed on the roof overhead with more force than before, and I thought I saw him shift uncomfortably as the last murmurings of thunder died away.

Ah. That's right. I remembered now… the scene on the aircraft played out again in my mind. The look of abject terror on Loki's face—though well concealed—had not gone unnoticed by myself or the other Avengers on board.

And then Thor had showed up.

Was that what was worrying him now?

I watched the demigod for endless minutes in complete silence, hugging the quilt around my neck and admiring the way the candlelight accented his sharp features.

After several minutes of listening to the thunder and the rain, I heard a low, monotone voice float across the room from the general direction of the couch. "You may as well come in."

I didn't start in surprise, much to my relief. Wary of his ever changing moods, I slunk into the dark room and moved to one of two leather chairs on either side of the small couch. The large windows were now behind me, and Loki sat at an angle to them.

Loki didn't look up from his book. One of his fingers rested on the dark words, halfway down the page. "Once upon a midnight dreary," he read softly. "While I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore." Loki stopped and looked up at me.

"Edgar Allen Poe," I whispered.

He nodded. "'The Raven.'" For a minute, we were silent. Lightning flashed, illuminating Loki's tired green eyes. Thunder boomed, rattling both the windows and the bookcases. I looked around, feeling a faint and unreasonable fear about the house collapsing. Brita's hysterics seemed to have rubbed off on me.

Loki took a deep breath, still looking at me.

"What?" I asked uncomfortably. "I can leave. But you told me to come in."

Loki sighed and looked down at the book again. He read: "While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door— Only this, and nothing more.'" He stopped and returned his gaze to mine, then said smoothly, "Please, Natasha, join me."

I settled down on the couch as far away from him as possible and examined the title of the book which he held, still open, in his lap. It was hard to read in the dim candlelight, but eventually I managed to make out the title: "The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe." It was an old copy, practically falling apart at the seams, and I wondered how Loki ever managed to read in this light. His eyesight must have been unbelievably keen.

I leaned just a bit closer, still keeping at least one couch cushion between him and myself at all times, and attempted to make out the words on the pages. It was a vain effort. I might as well have not tried.

Turning my attention to the coffee table, I realized that there was a mug of something that smelled suspiciously like hot chocolate sitting on the glass surface, and also a plate of sliced apples. An odd combination, but it sounded strangely good to me at the time.

Before I could so much as lift a finger, I felt Loki's dark green eyes glaring at me.

Sinking back into the couch, I frowned. My stomach was in knots. I hadn't had anything to eat since that last mission to London, and that seemed to be an incredibly distant time ago.

"You will not eat. You know why," Loki said in a low voice. "However, I do have a question for you."

"A question?" Intrigued, I leaned forward a bit before catching myself and sitting back.

Loki smirked at me for a moment before continuing. "I have pondered this question many times, and of yet, I have not been able to understand your mortal reasoning."

"My... reasoning?" I asked, already offended.

"Why you have not tried to kill me."

His statement came as such a shock that my jaw actually dropped. I gaped at him for several seconds, and he stared back, as stoic as ever. Not a glint of mischief could be seen in his eyes.

I decided to counter his question with another: "When have I ever had the chance?" It was a justifiable statement. My opportunities had been few and far between, and when they had arisen, they had been under uncertain circumstances.

Loki glanced away and laid the book carefully on the coffee table, the pages still open to "The Raven." Then he looked back at me and folded his hands in his lap, his brows so low that he had to peer out at me from beneath them.

I felt severely chastised, though he had not spoken a single word of rebuke. He knew full well that I was not as ignorant as I now pretended to be.

Should I tell him? Would he laugh at me? Ridicule my mortal weaknesses? Or, horror or horrors, decide to show me how mistaken I had been? Looking for a distraction, I picked up the book he had set aside, moving closer to the candlelight so I could see the words on the page more clearly. "You…" I shrugged one shoulder, still focusing on the poem, but his piercing stare would not go away. "You never… hurt me."

My words were hesitant, but they were laced with a thousand meanings. I had been hurt in so many ways, by so many people, that the slightest bit of kindness—or even lenience—was unexpected. I hadn't had the heart to kill him; he who had not once laid a hand on me in a demeaning or threatening way. His touch had been healing, not hurtful.

My heart ached for Barton, and still harbored bitterness against the demigod for pitting him against me. But Loki's defensive statements of the night before suddenly became clear, and with my inner vision unhampered by pain, I now understood.

_ It was I who had slain Barton. _

Loki had never sent him to terminate me. I had gone to him of my own accord, prepared to kill. And somewhere, in the deepest, most secret part of my soul, I had known that the encounter would end in bloodshed. I could have disobeyed Fury, but I hadn't… and Barton was dead because of it.

In my past, I had feared humanity. I was genetically modified to stand apart from the common man. I had been trained to track down and kill members of my own race, and if Clint hadn't spared me, I may never have known any emotion other than the cold and savage pleasure of the hunt.

He had taught me to love.

It was the greatest gift anyone had ever given me. The time had come to accept his passing and move on with my life, such as it was.

Loki's brow furrowed still more deeply, and he leaned forward a fraction of an inch, some of the weariness lifting from his gaze. It was replaced by a strange and thrilling curiosity that may or may not have been a façade. I had rarely seen him look so interested in anything I had to say.

"You never hurt me," I repeated slowly, more steadily, this time keeping our eyes locked.

He held the stare for what seemed to be an eternity. My willpower inevitably cracked first. Disturbed, I returned my attention to the book that sat in my lap. "'Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;— vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost Lenore...'" I whispered the words, almost under my breath. What a long time it had been since I had read anything of importance other than SHIELD's dull documents.

Then Loki's voice startled me out of my reflections. "Who is Lenore?"

I held back a laugh, taken aback by his bemused tone. "'The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless _here_ for evermore.'" I glanced up at him once again. "Is that not simple enough?"

He was silent for a long while. Another peal of thunder erupted above us. Then he guessed, "She has died."

I nodded silently. Neither of us spoke another word. My whole world became the pages before me.

_ And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
Thrilled me— filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before..._

The growling of the thunder gradually became more distant, and the rain slowed to a steady patter. I could hear it running through the gutters and trickling down the sides of the house...

_ Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before..._

I felt my eyelids growing heavy, and the words began to blur together on the pages. I let my head droop and the book slide down my lap a little. _Barton._ Sweet memories... sweet, sweet memories…

_ But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" _

My peaceful frame of mind, and the warmth of the quilt I had brought from the bedroom, slowly won out over my empty stomach. A hint of a smile crossed my face as I touched something warm and soft...

_ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—  
Merely this, and nothing more._

I let my head come to rest on a strong, comforting shoulder. A smooth hand absently brushed the side of my face, and I closed my eyes, drifting softly into the blessed realm of sleep...

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

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**Lassie- Review! ;)**


	19. Goldfish

My first sight of Loki, when I woke up, was less than pleasant. He sat stiffly in a leather chair, staring at me as I slowly sat up from my prone position on the couch. Loki's intense gaze coupled with his sharp features immediately reminded me of the Raven.

"Wha-" I was cut off by a shrill scream. "Brita!" I jumped to my feet, the quilt sliding to the ground and leaving me in nothing but nightgown. Modest though it was—several layers thick with a demure neckline and a hem that swept the floor—the wash of cold air that hit me was still enough to take my breath away.

"She's been doing that all morning," Loki said, glowering at me. "I don't know how you slept through it." He looked so uncomfortable and so pained that it took me a second to respond.

"Then... take care of her."

"_You_ take care of her," he growled, rising to his feet. "I have more important things to do than watch after a caterwauling child!" Like he had done so often in the past, Loki vanished, leaving me alone.

"Loki!"

Brita let out another painful shriek, clearly calling for attention.

...Not quite alone.

I quickly hustled down the hall, running a hand through my tangled hair and rubbing my eyes to clear them. This was not the best of mornings. "Shh... Brita, it's okay." I burst into my room and walked quickly over to the sobbing child. Her auburn hair clung stringily to her flushed face as she knelt in the middle of the twin bed, quilt piled around her tiny knees.

"Ma-mama?" she sniffed.

"Natasha," I corrected, still uneasy with her confusion.

"Na?"

I sighed. "Close enough. Are you hungry?"

She nodded, pulling the quilt up under her chin. Brita's blue eyes widened until they seemed to engulf her face. "Goldfish?" she whimpered.

"Err..." I suddenly realized that with Loki gone off on his own little adventure, neither of us would be able to eat. "Alright," I temporized. "Come with me downstairs, Brita. We're going to look for some Goldfish."

"Hunt?"

"Um, sure." I held out a hand, and Brita grabbed it. Together, we headed down into the kitchen. I sat Brita at the wooden table where Loki had given me that cup of horrible coffee and began to raid the cabinets. As I grew increasingly frustrated at my failure, Brita began to kick her legs against the chair and sing softly to herself.

She was so innocent, despite watching her mother die, that it almost broke my heart.

I flung open the pantry door and was rewarded with... nothing.

My first thought was of my own gnawing hunger, my second was of the agony of listening to Brita's screams. And then I felt horrible empathy for the little girl.

"Brita, come with me again," I said softly, heading for the living room.

I listened to the soft patter of her feet as she trailed behind me, doing my best to figure out a way to explain the situation to her. The best I could come up with was hope. Hope that Loki would return shortly.

I made a brief detour to reset the thermostat, which would hopefully warm the house somewhat, and then continued to the living room.

"Goldfish?" Brita asked entreatingly when I stopped beside the couch.

I sat down on the floor and patted my lap, not quite sure how to console her. "I already looked. We don't... There's nothing to eat right now. Just wait."

Brita pouted, sticking out her lower lip and widening her big blue eyes again, which were still watery with disappointed tears. "Brita hungry!"

I cringed. That was one thing that had to stop. Why did she always refer to herself in third person? "_I_ am hungry," I tried in vain to get Brita to repeat the correct phrase, putting the proper stress on the word "_I_."

The tiny thing sat down on my lap and sighed, gazing up at me sadly. "Na is hungry, too," she lamented, patting me delicately on the cheek. "Get Goldfish!"

"The Goldfish all swam away," I tried.

"Silly Na! Goldfish live in bag!" Brita smiled brightly at me, obviously pleased for knowing something I didn't.

"Well, let's go..." I thought rapidly. If anything, I just had to stall until Loki got back. "Let's go get a drink," I said with forced cheerfulness.

Brita jumped up and took my hand. "Up, up Na!"

I laughed at her eagerness and stood up, allowing the toddler to pull me back into the kitchen. Brita didn't let go of my hand for a second as I found two cups and filled them with tap water. "Here you go," I said softly, passing her the cup. She dropped my hand and quickly sucked down the water.

"More!" she grinned, holding the cup up to me. Brita only drank half the glass this time before setting it down on the floor and pattering off.

My stomach grumbled, and I drank down my cup. Somewhere, years and years ago, I had learned that drinking water could help stay hunger. And now, my sanity might depend on it. As I drank, I looked outside. It appeared to be midmorning, but it was hard to tell with the overcast sky.

"Na?" Brita called.

"What is it?" I set down the glass on the counter next to the sink and moved toward her.

"Color?"

"Huh?"

Brita ran up from the hallway and almost bumped into me. "Color!" she said again, holding up two small fistfuls of crayons. She seemed awfully fond of one-word responses.

"Where did you get those?" I asked, confused.

"Desk!" Cheerfully, Brita tottered back down the hall and led me into a small office. There was a desk, but no computer, to my disappointment. The lowest drawer had been pulled open to reveal a blue plastic full of loose crayons. Plain paper and several coloring books littered the floor.

"Brita color! Na color!" She plopped down on the floor and slammed two green crayons onto a piece of paper with startling force. I watched her scribble for a minute before she realized I wasn't doing the same. Brita stopped and looked up at me. "Na color!" she demanded.

"Um, alright..." Anything to keep her from crying. I sank to my knees grabbed a coloring book at random, flipping it open to a page near the middle. Brita stood up and walked over.

"Color!" She tapped the picture, a puppy chasing two butterflies, with a red crayon, then dropped the crayon in my lap.

"I will." Dutifully, I picked it up and started to shade in the dog's fur. Brita plopped down next to her drawing, apparently satisfied. For almost half an hour we sat in silence, working on our own little masterpieces. I was just finishing up my first butterfly (red, as Brita had continued to insist) when she came back over to me.

"Na!"

"Yes?"

"Look!" She held up her drawing.

I tried to figure out what it was, but I couldn't make out the shapes. Possibly two people, if I applied my little-used imagination. One with short red hair. "Is that... me?" I asked.

"Yeah!" she smiled. "After the storm, Na and Loki sleep on couch. Cuddle like Mama and Papa!" she explained cheerfully. "See. Couch, Na, Loki!" Brita pointed out each thing with a short finger.

I carefully accepted Brita's drawing, which she handed to me for appraisal, and examined it more closely. _Cuddled,_ she had said. Cuddled on the couch.

I frowned at the picture. "Am I... sleeping on his shoulder?"

"Na sleep like this!" Brita scurried to my side and held my arm, resting her head on my shoulder and grinning up at me. I was horrified. That undoubtedly explained Loki's chilly greeting this morning.

Struggling to stifle a gag of disgust, I peeled Brita off me. "I slept... on him..."

Before I could continue, there was a tremendous blast of freezing cold air. Brita screamed and ran into my arms. I leaped backwards, automatically sheltering Brita with my body. The wind focused into a single, spinning point like a tornado, still releasing icy air in every direction. The form that materialized in its center was tall, dark, and menacing.

Loki. His armor was gore spattered – not with his blood, but the blood of others – and his staff was in his hand. Dark stains marred the golden surface.

His expression was so hawk-like and fierce that for a moment, I wondered whether I was looking at the same person who had been reading poetry by candlelight mere hours ago... His distance from humanity seemed clearer than ever before. And in that moment, I was reminded of his true heritage: no matter what human traits I impressed upon him in my mind, Loki was a mythical monster, a terrible half-breed god of legend. It showed in every aspect of his appearance, and in the kingly aura that surrounded him.

He was feral, powerful, and insane.

And I was afraid.

"Natasha," he said, stepping toward me and grabbing my arm. His vice-like grasp seemed even sharper compared to his mellow voice. "We're leaving."

"But Brita!" I cried, even as the room blurred into one incomprehensible whirl.

"Na!" the little girl screamed. Her voice faded into the darkness, replaced by the general screaming of terrified people.

Manhattan materialized around us, smoky and clogged with rubble. Loki had deposited us just outside of a soaring skyscraper. I immediately noticed that my loose jeans and t-shirt had been replaced with my leather jumpsuit. And the weight of my belt told me another terrifying thing.

Loki had given me ammo for my pistols.

Something had gone wrong.

I ducked as a piece of debris flew over my head, and grabbed my pistols, which were loaded and ready for use. By the time I had yanked them from their holsters, the situation had already become clearer. Pedestrians ran screaming down the road. Police officers were shooting in our general direction, and I saw that more than one building had been blown apart.

"Natasha!"

I whipped my head around to stare at Loki, who had just terminated several police officers with his staff. Several blasts of blue light surged forth from the crown of the staff, downing three soldiers who had been advancing on him.

"Behind you!"

I whirled 180 degrees to my right and found myself facing down what looked like a speeding comet. I threw myself to the ground just before two red-gloved, metal hands clenched into fists mere inches away from my shoulders. Heat seared my back, and then vanished. When I looked up, Tony Stark's flying Iron Man suit was making a swift u-turn.

I fired four rounds directly at his head, but the bullets barely dented the material.

Still clutching both pistols, I turned and ran toward Loki, who was still some distance away. The demigod swung his staff around, aiming the crown straight at Stark, but by then he was almost upon me—and Loki hesitated.

It took only that long for the billionaire to literally sweep me off my feet.

"Loki!" I screamed, dropping my pistol and reaching toward him with one groping hand.

Loki's open mouth twisted into a snarl of frustration, the staff still poised in his grasp. And then he was gone from view, lost to the general blur and confusion that assaulted my senses. Within moments, we were rapidly approaching a tall building that might have been Stark Tower. It was hard to tell with my eyes squinted against the wind.

Stark crashed through the uppermost window. I barely held back a scream as several shards of glass sliced into my face.

He threw me down and I crumpled in a heap on the floor. Again.

This was where all my problems with SHIELD had started. Was this where they would end? I groaned in pain.

Tony stalked forward, each step overloud as he crunched across the broken window. "If it isn't little Miss Lover-Girl. I thought we'd gotten rid of you."

I dragged myself up onto the nearest piece of furniture, coughing. Blood dripped down my forehead and landed on Tony's leather couch. "You thought… wrong," was the most I could rasp out. I put a hand to the side of my face, trying to slow the bleeding. Then I turned to face my assailant.

The Iron Man mask slid up, revealing Stark's familiar visage. Unlike usual, however, he was not smirking, and I saw several dark bruises on his face.

"What-what's happening?" I asked, scrambling backwards on the couch.

"Didn't your boyfriend tell you? We've got the Tesseract in our custody, and you should have seen him when he found out. It wasn't pretty. If looks could kill, we'd all be dead." Tony glanced out the shattered window frame. The sound of sirens wailing could be heard even from the top of Stark Tower. "Well, more of us, anyway."

My heart nearly stopped beating, but before I could ask about Captain Rogers, a roar sounded somewhere in the city below.

I shuddered. I knew that hideous, bestial scream all too well.

No wonder the city looked like it had been nuked. Loki, the Hulk, and Iron Man going at it hammer and tongs? Each of those three entities alone contained enough destructive power to wipe the whole state of New York off the map in less than a day.

Tony stomped across the floor to look outside.

I wanted to ask about the Captain, but knew that if I didn't act now, while Tony was distracted, I was in trouble. Sucking in a breath of the cold air that had wafted through the gap in the row of windows, I flipped behind the couch and sprinted for the elevator—something I had been too afraid to do last time. But it was a risk I was now willing to take. Loki's unspoken faith in my abilities, and my latest trip to London, made me cocky.

Two wild, leaping steps carried me to the elevator. I reached out, willing my hand to pass through the sleek metal door.

It did.

I plunged through, just as the sound of a laser blast echoed behind me—but it grew suddenly muffled, and there was a dull metallic thunk on the other side of the door. The momentum of my leap slammed me into an array of wires that were strung along the opposite wall. My ribcage screamed in pain as I clung to them for a moment, panting.

Then came an electrifying split second where it suddenly registered that the elevator… was gone.

_I was inside the shaft._

Unnerved, I wrapped my gloved hands around the pulleys and braced my feet against the cold steel side of the elevator shaft. When I looked down, my stomach dropped. The farther my eyes wandered along the cables, the smaller the tunnel grew, until it was eventually lost in darkness. It had never really registered how _tall_ Stark Tower was.

Gritting my teeth, I held on to the pulleys, glaring over my shoulder at the dented elevator door. Even though it had been my preservation, I felt an unreasonable hatred for the thing. It had not welcomed me into a comfortable elevator with which to make my escape. Instead, it had unceremoniously dumped me into this empty hole.

Once I had regained my bearings, I began to climb down the shaft, using the wires as a ladder. Blood began to drip into my eyes, forcing me to blink rapidly. The sticky pads on my gloves and boots made climbing that much easier, and I breathed a prayer of thanks that SHIELD had given me such excellent equipment.

Before I had descended more than two stories, I felt an unsettling tug on the cable.

And then it began to slide down with a gentle creak. The rest of the wires were moving upward. Startled, I released my grasp on the pulleys and latched onto the steel supports that spanned the width of the shaft, pressing my torso against the vertical beam. The cables began to move much more rapidly, and I felt the shoulder of my jumpsuit burn with friction as they shot past.

The sides of the shaft vibrated, and a low hum reached my ears.

I stared down into the depths of the tunnel, and saw something flickering dimly. It became a steady glow, and I realized that it was swiftly moving closer.

The elevator.

Horrified, I could only stare as it advanced, the low hum turning into a thunderous growl. It was coming up the shaft like a freight train, and there were no more than eight inches of clearance between myself and the bulky contraption.

I held my breath, flattening myself against the wall as much as possible and turning my head to the side. The pain I would suffer should my chin be caught on the edge of the elevator was not even worth contemplating. Several strands of my hair caught on the speeding pulleys, and I winced in pain.

A cold breeze washed over my face. I stiffened, bracing myself. I had half a second, maximum, to pull this off. And that was providing the elevator didn't spread me all over the unfriendly steel like so much jam on a slice of toast.

I waited until the elevator was almost on top of me before moving an inch. If my timing was the slightest bit off the mark, I could be either decapitated or smashed against the shaft. Neither was a pleasant prospect.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I thrust my body forward, reaching out into what felt like empty space, and hoped for the best.

Before I could even comprehend the feeling of hanging in midair, I hit the floor of the elevator with enough force to rattle every bone in my body. Gasping with relief, I seized the handrail, careful not to put so much as a finger through the wall. There was no time to be thankful. I had to do something to force the elevator back down.

I punched the button for the first floor, but the elevator continued to glide up the shaft. Desperate, I resorted to the process of elimination: frantically pressing as many buttons as I possibly could and hoping that something would work.

Nothing did.

"Reverse, reverse," I muttered under my breath, as if that would help. The elevator gradually came to a halt and I retreated to a far corner, expecting the worst.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the doors slid apart.

I could tell that Tony was waiting. The beginnings of a sunset illuminated his suit, the intense glare above the city skyline almost as bright as the repulsors on his palms.

The doors shuddered, stopped, moved again, and then screeched loud enough to wake the dead. Tony swore vehemently. A single blast from his palm sent the right door flying backwards. I muffled a scream as it banged into the wall inches from my arm, then fell down across my toes.

"Enough," Tony grumbled, visor sliding back down. "Let's just get this over with, shall we? I had a date..."

I fired off all the rounds in my remaining pistol, but it didn't stop the Iron Man from marching into the elevator and grabbing my arm. Hitting the empty gun on his head was similarly ineffective. Hopefully it would at least leave a bruise.

"Really?" Tony grabbed the gun and tossed it behind him, then quickly twisted my arms up behind my back. "I liked you much better before you hooked up with that loser."

"I didn't exactly have a choice," I snarled, struggling to free myself.

"Ah, ah," Tony chided, shifted his grip a little. "Try that again and you'll have a broken arm." He began to force me across the room toward the shattered window. Blood was now running in a small trickle down across one eye and into my mouth, filling it with a horrible, metallic taste. Tony shifted again, locking his arms around my middle before taking off. "Fight me and I'll have no issue with dropping you," he warned.

Defeated, slightly embarrassed, and genuinely afraid without a weapon that could stop Tony, I could only focus on breathing through his tight grip as he shot across Manhattan. We flew to the point where all the sirens seemed to converge, near the edge of Central Park. Tony swooped toward the mess of police cars, fire trucks, and military helicopters and dropped me from ten feet up.

I groaned as I hit the ground and tried to stand, but he was there in an instant, pulling me up and pinning me in place once more. The first thing I became aware of was Loki. Surrounded by at least two dozen SHIELD agents with big guns. His staff was clutched in the massive fist of the Hulk, who stood less than thirty feet away. And the Tesseract was locked in the demigod's long fingers, glowing blue and turning his skin a similar eerie hue. Or was it actually—

"Hand it over," Director Fury demanded imperiously, stepping forward. He was flanked by at least six men.

Loki looked over at me. His face was bloody, dirty, and bruised. His armor was torn. I squirmed, both under Loki's harsh eyes and Tony's tight grip. For an instant, Loki seemed to lean toward me.

"I'd prefer not to." Loki looked back at Fury with a smirk that seemed to me to be forced. He closed his fingers around the Tesseract. It vanished, probably into the invisible space he seemed to pull everything out of. There was a long moment of tense silence. "And I would also prefer that you leave my things alone," Loki added in a dangerous voice.

Fury swiveled his one good eye toward me. "Not likely."

Chaos erupted, and vanished, in an instant. Hulk dropped the scepter and grabbed Loki instead, thrashing him into unconsciousness in seconds.

I barely saw it under the press of bodies that surrounded me, crushed me, bound me…

…and I barely heard him shout "Natasha!" over my own insensate screaming.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

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**Lassie: As a matter of detail, in Chapter Eleven I wrote that Brita had brown eyes - Insanity, in this chapter, wrote them in as blue. Oh the joys of co-writing a fanfiction! ;) They will be blue from this point forward. Review!**


	20. The Chicago Project

Someone clapped a gloved hand over my mouth. I squirmed, trying to bite his fingers, but to no avail. I stopped struggling and sank into the rough embrace of the agents who were holding my arms and shoulders. One of them grabbed my hair, and they slowly forced me down on my knees. I had no choice but to acquiesce.

This was it.

I was finished.

I fought to breathe, fought for air. A sharp band seemed to press down around my lungs, and I realized I was having some sort of seizure. The fear was incapacitating. My life was about to be extinguished. If God kept count of all my sins, they would surely outweigh what little good I had done in this world.

And Loki…

My mind snapped back to my first sight of the demigod. I remembered the wild look in his eye as he had sung the praises of insanity, his fight with Tony in Stark Tower, our flight to Tonsberg… and the powers he had given me. _Strength almost equal to an Asgardian, _I remembered.

In other words, much stronger than your average SHIELD agent.

The many bodies who had been restraining me had backed off, leaving me to the tender mercies of a mere three agents.

I flexed my fingers behind my back and relaxed my elbows, lifting my chin and half-closing one eye. The Director approached, withdrawing a pistol from his belt. His stare was hard, cold, unwavering.

It was Case Red. He had no choice. And I knew he would not—could not—regret his actions. Playing favorites was frowned upon in his line of work… and compassion? Intolerable.

I had survived without a drop of compassion for years in the Black Widow program, and I had applied that mentality to every single one of my missions. Barton and SHIELD had tried to suppress my flawed morals, but Loki, as contrary as ever, had gone to extraordinary lengths to revive them. I knew I could act on that mentality again.

"I didn't want it to end this way," I heard Nick Fury murmur.

I refused to so much as flinch, or break our stare-down.

It wasn't until his finger had started to squeeze the trigger that I finally moved. Snapping my head back, I ducked almost to the pavement, neatly flipping the two agents over my head. The gun went off with a bang, but I felt no pain—one of the agents I had been using as a human shield suddenly collapsed on the ground, gasping.

Another bullet ripped through the shoulder of my jumpsuit, searing the flesh, but I launched myself at the Director, kicking out with both feet. They connected squarely with his stomach and he grunted, the pistol flying out of his grasp.

The agents scattered.

Without giving him a moment to recover, I clenched my hand into a fist and threw a punch at his face that should have knocked him cold. He shifted beneath me, and my knuckles just grazed the side of his face. Then they slammed into the pavement.

I yelled in pain, and then grabbed the sleeves of his trenchcoat. He tried to stand, but I used his own weight against him and pulled him on top of me. I thrust my knee upwards, under his ribcage, and flipped him over.

He grabbed my arm and twisted—I screamed.

And then he reached for his other pistol.

Desperation kicking in, I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and elbowed him in the throat, reaching for the pistol with my good hand. Fury bared his teeth in a snarl of pain and yanked the gun out of its holster.

I grabbed his wrist before he could aim the barrel at my face, and for a moment we stayed locked in that position, both at an impasse. My back pressed painfully into the ground, and my grip on his wrist began to shake. Then there was a deafening crack, and a bullet burrowed into the pavement just inches away from my ear.

I didn't know who fired the shot, and I didn't care. In a moment I had shoved Nick Fury in front of me for protection. His own men wouldn't fire while he was at risk of being killed.

The Director slammed my shoulder into the pavement and I growled in anger, pinning the gun between us. My eyes met his wide brown one, and for a moment we struggled in silence. My fingers squeezed around his, and neither of us had any clear advantage.

Careful to avoid detecting suspicion, I slid the fingers of my bruised hand beneath my belt, feeling for the knife that I knew must be hidden there.

For several painstaking seconds that seemed an eternity, all I could feel was the smooth leather of my belt. And then…

Cold steel.

I allowed a hint of a smile to flicker across my lips.

Fury's eye narrowed in suspicion.

With a quick, effortless thrust, I plunged the knife through his shirt, deep into his ribcage. His mouth fell open, but he didn't make a sound. His grasp on the pistol automatically loosened, and I easily seized control of the weapon.

Flipping onto my side, I jammed the barrel against the Director's face, squeezed my eyes shut, and pulled the trigger. Somebody screamed. I saw nothing, felt nothing. For several moments I lay there, in a daze. Then a little voice in the back of my mind shouted one frantic word: _Run!_

My eyes flashed open in time to see the look of shock on the faces of those standing by. They were paralyzed, as if unable to believe what they had just witnessed. I rolled to my feet in an instant, my fingers still clamped around the handle. I pushed through the crowd of agents, policemen, and foolish onlookers that had gathered. Four shots were fired.

Two agents were hit, one almost directly in front of me.

I leaped over the body that fell across my path and started running.

When I was past the group of SHIELD officials and sprinting freely down the sidewalk, shoving aside pedestrians and bicycles, something familiar caught my eye. I slowed just long enough to turn my head.

Through a gap in the scattering crowd, I saw Dr. Banner buttoning up a new shirt. The Hulk was no more. Nevertheless, I hesitated, staring at him. I couldn't help it. Hundreds of "what if?" scenarios flashed through my mind in a second.

Dr. Banner glanced up and met my gaze, hands frozen on the lowest button of his shirt.

He looked surprised at first, but his expression quickly became a strange blend of pity and sorrow. And then I remembered: he knew what it was like to be hunted.

After a moment, Dr. Banner stepped back and nodded to me.

I stared for another split second, and then took off running again, my hands clenched into fists, heart pumping, adrenaline gushing. I had not felt such a rush of terror and determination since my fight with Barton in the helicarrier—and that seemed like ages ago.

Traffic was jammed in the city streets, and I stayed as low as I could, darting in and out of the cars as I ran. There were no more gunshots, but I kept running anyways. SHIELD had always managed to find me before. Why not now, on their home turf? The sun had sunk below the horizon, throwing everything into grotesque shadow, when I saw a dark, unoccupied alleyway. I slipped around the corner to catch my breath. My pulse was pounding so hard that my ears ached, and I could barely breathe. I had to calm myself.

Silence was always of the utmost importance, but I was sucking wind. Bending over, I placed my palms on my knees and crouched on the pavement, my back to the wall. Once I had caught my breath, I wiped a hand across my forehead and slowly straightened. _Gotta run,_ I told myself.

My more practical side wondered out loud, "Where to?" I gritted my teeth in frustration. "Just think… just think for a moment…"

"Natasha Romanoff, talking to herself. Will wonders never cease?"

I whirled around, looking up at the roof of the building whose wall I had sought refuge behind. A dark profile, silhouetted against the setting sun, perched on the edge of the overhang. It was such a familiar sight that for a moment, I held my breath, expecting the beautiful vision to vanish before my eyes.

It didn't.

The man jumped down from the ledge, landing on the ground in a crouch, and then rose to his full height. He wasn't much taller than me. "Agent Romanoff." He gave me a nod.

"Agent Barton." I nodded back, as I had done so often in the past. Memory was the only thing sustaining me. My body had frozen at the sight of him. Clint. _Clint._ I wanted to run to him, to throw my arms around his neck and never, never let go. But I couldn't. I just stood there in the shadows, still and cold.

He waited, eyes bright, a hint of a smile on his face.

Those eyes. Blue eyes. Though so often stormy and suspicious, they had always altered whenever he was looking at me. They were soft and unguarded. I felt a tear involuntarily trickle down my cheek.

"But you—I saw—your neck," I finally stammered. My shock at seeing him alive and in one piece had apparently rendered me incapable of stringing together a full thought.

"SHIELD is a wonderful thing, sometimes," he said softly, spreading his hands. I rushed at him without hesitation, and his strong arms enveloped me.

"Clint," I breathed.

His muscles relaxed as he took deep breathes. "I was so worried," he murmured into my hair. I smiled with my face pressed into his broad shoulder, happiness overwhelming me. My dear, dear Clint was alive. Alive.

"You should have known I'd find my way back to you, 'Tasha," he whispered, kissing my forehead. I leaned into the touch, and then pressed my lips against his. It was feeling that I wished would last for all the ages, and stretch into eternity…

But even as I kissed him, I knew that something was amiss.

Something in his manner. The way his hand cradled my shoulder. Barton used to wrap his arms around my waist when he drew me in for a chaste, tender moment. Now he seemed… more careful. I supposed that was natural, but it still unsettled me.

I took his hand and settled it on my hip, pulling away and smiling up at him. "I love you," I whispered, reaching up to fondle his neck. The place where it had been broken after the fall from the catwalk.

Not even a scar.

"I love you too," Clint assured me earnestly, his deep voice vibrating the skin under my fingertips.

I let my hand slide down his chest. My smile faded. "Clint…"

Several furrows appeared on his forehead, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepened. "What's wrong?"

"Brita…" I trailed off, not knowing quite where to start. "There's a child… she…"

Clint's expression quickly became alarmed. "Child? What child?"

"I mean, um, she's not _your_ child." I flailed for a proper explanation, knowing that certainly wasn't it. "Or mine! I mean, I adopted her. I didn't mean to."

The confusion on Clint's face only heightened. "I don't understand," he began, but I interrupted him.

"Her parents were killed, by Loki. So…"

"So you took her upon yourself."

I sighed in relief. "Yes."

Barton sighed, too. "Thanks for clarifying," he grumbled.

I giggled—something I hadn't done in years. "We have to find her," I reiterated. "And Loki…"

_And Loki..._

A slow smile spread across my face, and I unleashed a bout of hysterical laughter. "I'm free!" I exclaimed suddenly.

"What?" Clint pulled back so he could look me in the eye.

"You're alive. Loki has no more power over me," I explained hurriedly. "All I have to do is keep you safe..." I glanced around as if I were a dog, searching for a place to stash a prized bone.

"What? What did you do?" Clint grabbed my shoulders.

"He made me promise that I would—"

He shook me.

"Clint!" I cried, grabbing his wrists and twisting them to make him let go. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other, before I finally released his hands. "What was that?" I demanded, stepping back.

"You made a deal with that... that lying monster!" Clint's eyes narrowed to dark slits. "I can't believe you would do such a low thing, Natasha."

I glared at him. "Loki forced me into it."

"Oh, did he? Are you sure it wasn't just your own twisted sense of self-preservation that got in the way?" he snapped.

I backed up another step or so, openly gaping at Barton. It wasn't just that his words made no sense, it was the fact that he had never acted like this before. Not towards anyone. Not towards me. The Barton I had grown to love was calm, civil, polite. Not this... this _angry_ person the Hulk would have been proud to call family.

"What did SHIELD do to you?" I croaked.

"They fixed me," he said, still glowering down at me.

It was like he was a different person. _Different... the Chicago Project... genetic manipulation..._

"Oh God," I whispered, covering my mouth with my hand. Horror and disbelief crashed over me. Frantically, I tried to remember the date on one of those papers I had read in Loki's room. Was it... Yes. I remembered. It was before Budapest.

"What is it?" Barton asked, his anger replaced by anxiousness.

I didn't trust him. Taking a deep breath, I looked down and said: "Tell me what happened in Budapest."

"Huh?"

"Tell me!" I demanded, my gaze flashing back up to his face.

Barton gave me a puzzled look. "Well, um..." He launched into a stilted, technical account of what had happened. The battle maneuvers, the planning, our target, what had gone wrong. How we had fixed it. But he left out everything… else. It sounded strangely like he was simply reading a third person account off a piece of paper.

He finished and looked expectantly at me.

I was shaking, terrified that my suspicion was proving to be true. "Don't you remember… anything?" I ventured. "Us?"

Clint slowly shook his head.

I stumbled over my next words as I willed him to remember. To be himself. "Clint. Don't you remember the restaurant before the final shot, and the hotel afterwards? We talked... we talked... so long. About so much..."

Indecision and confusion clouded Barton's handsome features. It felt as if I was slowly ripping my own heart out, but I had to do it. I had to know. It would be more painful otherwise. "Answer me one question," I said slowly, voice shaking harder than ever. "Answer this completely honestly and truthfully. Not what SHIELD has told you to say." I hesitated, torn between asking flat out and dancing around my worst nightmare. I decided on the former: it was slightly easier. "What is the Chicago Project?"

Barton gave me a long, sad look. "It's- it _was _a... successful experiment in... human cloning." He looked down, seemingly unable to meet my eyes anymore.

I was right.

He wasn't real. This wasn't Barton. He looked and talked and maybe thought like Barton, but it wasn't him. Clint Barton was really dead. And this was no trick of Loki's this time. SHIELD had brought out this science experiment, used him to play me. No doubt everyone was waiting back at HQ for this... this _clone_ to bring me in.

It wasn't the shock at the scientific breakthrough, but the way it was being used.

I had been tricked and betrayed in a cruel, underhanded way.

Again.

White-hot rage consumed me. There was no red haze clouding my vision. In fact, if anything, the world suddenly grew ten times clearer. Once again, SHIELD had used me. And Loki... My thoughts were wrenched back to him. He had been cruel, yes, but only when I had not listened. Everything he had ordered had been for my own benefit. Compared to SHIELD, Loki was almost angelic. And he was being held hostage, I assumed. Loki: the one person who seemed to be looking out for me these days.

It all came together in a moment, with intense clarity.

There was no guilt, no hesitation, no uncertainty behind my actions as I raised Nick Fury's gun and shot Barton's clone in the head. The body tumbled to the ground, as lifeless as the real Barton had been when I pushed him over the railing, two weeks ago… it seemed an eternity. I stared at him for a moment, lost in dark thoughts before shaking myself. My next path suddenly made itself obvious. Glancing up at the towering skyscrapers, I calculated the quickest route to SHIELD headquarters and began to run.

For the first time in a very long time, I had a clear purpose.

I was going to rescue Loki.

Unless he was already dead...

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**20 chapters! Woohoo!**


	21. Doors Open From Both Sides

The alley where Barton's clone lay dead was almost five miles behind me before I stopped running. As I sprinted through the streets, my mind scrambled to come up with a rational way to rescue Loki. No doubt he was being held under top security, with dozens, if not hundreds of trained agents watching his every move. As the saying went: he probably couldn't sneeze without permission. It was not going to be the easiest extraction mission I had ever had.

Extraction mission, not rescue.

Shaking my head, I slowed to a stop at the corner of 115th and Amsterdam in the metaphorical shadow of Columbia Law School. As it was nearly nine by that point, all classes seemed to be finished for the day and the campus was mostly dark.

Recovering my breath, I looked up at the stark, imposing grey walls of the university. I had never gone to college, but I had heard both grand tales and horror stories about the experience. As tempting as it was to stand there and think about what might have been, I shoved thoughts of education aside and marched quickly down the sidewalk, heading toward a group of trees that broke up the harsh concrete everywhere I looked. I only passed a few people, and none gave me a second look, despite my jumpsuit and undoubtedly frayed appearance. It was only a short walk to the park. A large statue rose from the middle of a low wall at the edge of the manicured lawn, depicting a heavily robed, old fashioned man. There was a small plaque, but I didn't bother reading it. Climbing over the wall and into the low bushes behind it, I waited a moment to make sure no joggers would come past.

Luck appeared to be with me for once as not a single person came past. Unable to believe it, I forced myself to remain still for a full three and a half minutes before my self-restraint gave out and a slipped over behind the statue. At the base, there was a small ledge with tiny details chiseled into the dark grey stone. Starting at the right edge, I began to count in, running my finger across the bumpy design.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," I whispered to myself, stopping on the last number and pressing hard. The ridge slid inward and stopped with a soft _click_. I stepped back.

There was a pause, and then the back panel of the statue began to slide down. I waited nervously as the grinding noise it made seemed unbearably loud and obvious. But no one came to investigate. And when the panel slipped completely out of sight, I darted inside and down the narrow staircase without hesitation. A few flickering fluorescent lights had been built into the ceiling at spotty intervals along the way, spaced just close enough to alert me to the presence of yet another sharp corner.

This was an old passageway, a little-used access point that only a handful of SHIELD agents were even aware of. I was one of the few. And yet I had no doubt there would be guards once I reached the more widely trafficked tunnels.

I slowed my headlong pace to a gentle jog, and in less than a minute I heard voices. Slinking along the wall, I kept a hand on Nick Fury's pistol, ready to withdraw it from my belt at a moment's notice.

There were two voices, one strong and deep, the other cold and female:

"You think the Council made a good call?"

"I won't play guessing games, Ty. Let well enough alone."

"I don't trust her," Ty asserted quietly.

"Who? Agent Hill?"

"_Director_ Hill." His voice turned mocking. "Fury would have—"

The female interrupted him with a subdued laugh. "Word is, Fury got whupped by a girl. And I think Director Hill is the better choice, anyway."

Now my curiosity was fully aroused. I stopped and listened, still lurking behind the corner.

"That's not true. I heard that he died in a plane wreck."

"He _was_ a wreck by the time she got through with him. And that's not the point. Director Hill isn't—hold on… Agent Lowe. Yessir. No sign of activity. Over."

"Everybody has a different story," Ty protested after a moment. "Nobody really knows what happened."

"It was a girl who killed him," the woman insisted. "Agent Romanoff, I think."

"The Case Red?"

"I'm not even sure what that is."

I slowly drew the pistol, resting my finger on the trigger. When I came around the corner they both had their backs to me. Perfect.

"It's just another term for 'kill on sight.' They probably have people out looking for her right now. She's dangerous. Anybody who can take out Director Fury single handedly oughta be—"

Allowing myself a grim smile, I pulled the trigger. The silencer on the gun made a faint twanging sound, and the man collapsed on the ground. The woman whirled around just in time to receive a bullet to the forehead. She fell on top of him without a sound.

Aware that time was everything, I quickly knelt down and yanked the communicator from her ear. That might be useful later. After a moment of thought, I took her SHIELD jacket too. It was possible that it would help me remain incognito if crossing paths with one of the other agents became unavoidable.

After slipping into the jacket, I began to run down the tunnel again, silent as a shadow. I had not gone more than fifty paces before I noticed the vents in the ceiling. They appeared at regular intervals, every twenty paces or so, but it was not until I heard an echo of footsteps in the hallway that I decided to make use of them.

Swift and silent, I scaled the wall, climbing just high enough to touch the vent. With deft fingers and my superhuman strength, I quickly pried the vent from the ceiling, trying not to mangle it, and reached a hand into the shaft. Empty space. But would there be enough?

The footsteps grew louder.

Indefinitely careful, I eased up into the heating duct, straining my eyes for any tell-tale signs of alarm systems. Nothing. Pulling myself all the way in, I backed over the open vent—there was no room to turn around—and gently replaced the vent cover. It wouldn't stay in place without support, so I held it there with my fingertips, leaning as far away from it as possible.

Whoever it was passed directly underneath me. After several agonizing moments, the familiar, yet terrifying sound of walking faded away. No longer afraid of being overheard, I bent several pieces of metal just far enough to hold the cover in place, and then began to skulk through the shaft, noiseless as ever.

For the first two minutes of crawling, it was pleasantly peaceful. But then I caught sight of a strangely distorted section of metal two inches in front of my nose. A light flicked on in the room below me, and for an instant I saw the crisscrossed lasers blocking my path before my eyes adjusted and the lines vanished.

I swore out loud.

I knew those lasers like I knew my favorite pistol, having helped design both. There was no logical way to get past them without giving myself second degree burns and setting off about a hundred alarms.

After so many years in high pressure situations, I had come to the conclusion that my brain worked faster under stressful circumstances. The theory still held when I came to a conclusion twenty-three seconds later. There was no real purpose to my crawling through the heating system besides convenience. In the halls, there wouldn't be alarms restricting the agents' movements. But up here... well, nobody really came here except with mischief in mind.

Mischief.

Loki.

I clenched my jaw. Loki was the whole reason that I was here in the first place instead of running for my life like a sensible person. Logic dictated that I figure out where he was being held and formulate a plan based on that.

Slowly, I backed away from the laser grid and over a grate, tearing small holes in my jumpsuit on the rough surface. I listened carefully for any sound, then dropped down into the hall using the reverse method I had used to get into the ducts. It took a moment for me to orient myself before I turned to the right and took off.

I knew I was on the bottom floor of the building. And thinking like _Director_ Hill, I assumed that Loki would be as close to the top of the thirty-five story building as possible.

And so began the longest four hours of my life.

My assumption that there would be no alarms proved to be true, but I hadn't counted on the unusually high number of agents that scurried from room to room, from elevator to elevator, from person to person. If I had been completely unknown, moving around would have been a cinch. But after years under SHIELD's tight yoke, there was no way to move twenty feet without seeing someone I knew. Zipping up my jacket and pulling my hair into a tight pony tail with the rubber band I found in one of the pockets wouldn't be enough to disguise me. So I slipped from hiding place to shadowy corner, employing every trick I knew about blending in and vanishing into thin air. It was stressful beyond belief. It was mind numbing. It was physically exhausting, especially after the day had already gone. And after two hours, I had only made it up five levels.

Stepping into a large supply closet to avoid a passing agent who I recognized from a job several years ago, it was all I could do to keep standing. I wound through the tall racks of simple office supply until I reached the corner farthest from the door. There was no way I could continue. Last time I had seen a clock, it had been nearly 2 AM. I had been up since maybe five thirty.

"Loki can wait," I muttered, dropping ungracefully to my knees and shoving several boxes of paper to the side so I could slip under a rack of metal shelves. "No one will find me. It's safe. As long as I'm quiet."

Crawling into my impromptu den, I suddenly realized how dizzy I was. My stomach grumbled loudly as I pulled the boxes back into place and curled up on my side.

"Shut up," I whispered, closing my eyes. "You'll give me away."

* * *

When I opened my eyes again, I winced. Not at the light, because there really wasn't any, but at the memory of last night. Or the entire day. Definitely the entire day. I extracted myself from under the shelf and struggled painfully to my feet. My insides felt as twisted and knotted as fishing line, complaining loudly. How long had it been since I had eaten? Not a healthy time, that was for sure. I needed to find Loki and get out as soon as possible, before my reasoning became any more affected by the lack of nutrition... It was extremely lucky that I hadn't been discovered last night.

A plan.

I needed to focus and create a plan.

There was no way I could go through the trouble of sneaking up to the top floor, not in my current state. So logically, the simplest way to get to Loki would be... would be to have SHIELD escort me to him.

Convinced that the plan was a fairly good one, I strode out of the supply closet, much to the surprise of a young blonde man. "Hey!" I shouted. "I heard somebody wanted to interrogate Natasha Romanoff!"

The agent jumped and began to jabber into his radio. I stood still, and within a minute, we were both swarmed by heavily armed guards. They roughly forced my hands behind my back, handcuffed me, and pushed me towards an elevator without a word. I was content with the silence. There was nothing to say, anyway. Nothing to do but wait.

The elevator, to my surprise, did not rise, but dropped. And dropped, and dropped. I felt a strange mixture of chagrin and relief. Chagrin because my guess had been _completely_ wrong. Relief because this was probably the easiest way to discover my error.

The doors slid to the side and spit me and my escort of fifteen out into a dimly lit concrete hallway. As we marched down it, a stray thought crossed my mind.

_Loki must have had to duck, with this low ceiling._

I nearly giggled in my slightly hysterical state, but it died in my throat when one guard threw open a heavy metal door. Then punched a numerical code into a keypad, spun a large wheel, opened a second door, subjected his eye to one of those annoying retina scans, pressed a button on the wall, watched yet another thick door slide upwards, and shoved me ungraciously into the room beyond.

The look on Loki's face could have instantly frozen the entire Caribbean. In the height of summer.

Someone undid my handcuffs and pushed me down onto a metal bench in the middle of the room. Everything I could see was concrete and three-inch thick metal. There was nothing besides the bench, which was bolted to the floor, and Loki sitting next to me on it.

My escort left without a word, shutting the doors behind them.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

With each successive thud, I felt the hazy fog I had been fighting dissipate. I realized how incredibly stupid I had been. Slowly, I looked over at Loki.

"Genius," he muttered, glaring sideways at me. I realized that he had a black eye and several freshly scabbed-over wounds on his face. One of them cracked slightly, and blood oozed down his neck. Oh yes - Bruce Banner. I had forgotten. "Getting caught down here with me. I applaud your intellect."

"It sounded smarter upstairs, alright?" I hissed. "Just so you know, I've been crawling around looking for you for almost twelve hours!" Not quite the truth, but whatever. It sounded dramatic.

Loki gave me a flat stare. I detected no hint of appreciation in his green eyes. Just annoyance. And perhaps a hint of disappointment, if I probed a little deeper. He didn't say anything else, and I soon retreated within myself, thinking hard. I had taken a gamble, I realized, and my brain was struggling to function without the nutrients it needed. I was so hungry...

I frowned, trying to focus on my previous question: What _had_ I been thinking when I presented myself to that silly agent? The chances of being brought down to Loki had been incredibly minimal - I was a Case Red now, after all - but they had led me straight to him, even though my logic behind the move had been skewed. Why? Why would SHIELD do something so… well… so dumb? Maybe because it was the most secure detention area on the base. Yet they knew I was his ally, his accomplice, his partner in crime. They would therefore know that I had broken into SHIELD HQ with the express purpose of finding and freeing my dangerous 'boyfriend,' as Tony Stark had so candidly put it. They knew. So why—

A sudden thought made my skin crawl. _That was how they saw me_. Not just as an accomplice… _as a weakness_. Nausea and dread consumed me.

Loki must still have the Tesseract hidden away in his invisible tote bag. And SHIELD wanted it back. That's why they hadn't killed him. And that was also why I was still alive as well. No manner of torture would make Loki part with his secrets—but it was possible, however slightly, that he could be swayed if I were the one who was suffering.

I gave a slight shudder and buried my face in my hands, trying in vain to block out the mental images. I had witnessed several of SHIELD's interrogations, and though I had seen many horrors in my day, they had given me nightmares for months.

Besides, I had no assurances that Loki would feel so much as a pang of sympathy for me. He himself had never hurt me, but would he object to SHIELD mangling his disobedient servant? Especially after my recent displays of false loyalty? I had no way of knowing, and it nearly killed me just to think of his cold eyes and expressionless face. Perhaps I was merely a convenience, just like Barton and Peter.

I bowed my head and folding my hands in my lap, gripping them so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My eyes watered, smearing my vision. My clenched hands, my soft black boots, and the stiff white floor all turned into one colorless blur. I was aware that there were security cameras in every corner of the cell, and agents watching my every move, but it didn't matter anymore. I didn't care who saw my tears. They fell, slowly and steadily, from my aching eyes. Each one landed on the cold, hard floor with a sickening plop.

For half an hour I cried in silence, feeling my muscles slowly cramping from my hunched-over position on the bench, but I didn't move. I couldn't move. It was all I could do to keep breathing. Slowly. In. And out. In. And out. I counted my breaths, knowing that each one brought me closer to whatever horrors SHIELD was preparing.

And then I felt something new. Something other than pain and frustration, and the wetness of my tears. It was a gentle pressure on my arm. It grew a bit stronger, and then slid along my back to encompass the whole of my shoulders.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision, and slowly glanced at Loki out of the corner of my eye. He was still sitting rigidly on the bench, facing the wall, but his arm was around my shoulders in a gentle, awkward embrace.

This unusual gesture distracted me from my dark premonitions for a moment. It suddenly occurred to me that Loki had no issue with physical contact unless any emotion was involved—in which case he became stiff and uncomfortable. There had been no hesitation when he had held my hand in New York, or kissed my hair on the plane to Tonsberg, or put in my diamond earrings before our infamous trip to London. Those displays of affection and condescension had undoubtedly been meant only to gall me. Or perhaps they had been genuine, and he had hid his compassion under a façade of sarcasm.

But here, there was no mask to hide behind. And it showed in his whole bearing. He seemed… weak. Tired. Disappointed. And _angry_, too. There was no denying it. I could feel it radiating from his very skin, which had grown suddenly cold against my jacket.

"Loki," I said, letting his name flick off the end of my tongue. It wasn't much more than a hoarse whisper, but I felt him move a little. "Loki, what are… what…"

He took in a shallow breath and pulled me closer, letting me lean against his strong frame. I didn't think. I just let my head rest on his leather-clad shoulder, fighting to keep my fears at bay and simply enjoy the feeling. It reminded me of poetry and soft candlelight. Of home. Was the forest house really my home? I closed my eyes and relaxed, exhausted. Loki's touch somehow calmed my nerves and began to dispel my nausea.

I could have fallen asleep right there on the bench had he not suddenly sat up with a jerk, his embrace turning from soothing to crushing in an instant. I gasped for air, struggling to pull away. He let me go, and I retreated to the opposite corner of the room, staring at him in dismay.

He looked hardly less alarmed than I felt. His pupils slowly dilated, and then shrank to menacing slits as he held out both hands as if to grasp something square. The Tesseract slowly materialized, illuminating the cell with a glow far brighter than the artificial lights overhead. It seemed a living, breathing thing, sending its misty bluish rays across the room. They lit up Loki's face in such a grotesque way that he looked more ghoul than god.

A low, ground-shaking hum filled the air, and I watched as the deceptively small power-source began to vibrate in Loki's hands. His large eyes now reflected the eerie glow of the Tesseract. A loud, blaring alarm suddenly went off in the cell, and—I assumed—in the entire SHIELD base. I resisted the impulse to clap my hands over my ears in pain.

I didn't ask Loki what was happening. I doubted I would receive an answer. His skin was white as paint and growing more ashen by the second.

The Tesseract glowed brighter and brighter until I could hardly look at it. A massive beam of pure energy suddenly shot from the top, a loud boom like thunder following a second later. Loki dropped the Tesseract and jumped to his feet, backing away. The light collided with the cement and steel ceiling far above us. The whole room shook violently. Energy blasted away from the impact, only to be pulled back into a slow spin around the circular white faded to black, leaving tiny pinpoints of light behind. Exactly like stars in the night sky.

Loki turned to me, green eyes wide and fearful, as the room quaked again. The vulnerability I saw in their depths frightened me even more than the Tesseract's violent behavior. In the short time I had known Loki, he had never seemed _weak._ Even after a setback, no matter how major, he had always been in control. I got the feeling that his weakness scared him as much as it scared me.

A second later, the first Chitauri jumped through the portal and landed with a crash, putting a small crater in the floor. It straightened and looked around as it pulled a large gun over his shoulder. Loki pushed me behind him, armor appearing over his leather tunic.

The Chitauri turned to us and aimed the weapon at Loki's head.

At least a dozen more of the creatures fell from the ceiling, all quickly mimicking the first.

Then a large figure floated down and landed several feet away, completely shrouded in black and emanating a coldness even stronger than the icy aura I had come to expect from Loki.

"We meet again, traitor," it breathed. A putrid odor washed through the room, sickly and rotting like a corpse too long exposed from the grave. "How have you enjoyed living?"

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Lassie: It was definitely a team effort on this chapter. Hope you enjoyed! If you did, review! ;)**


	22. Caught in the Middle

"_How have you enjoyed living?"_ The words were spoken with such malicious sarcasm, such cruel, such mocking candor that my heart stopped beating for a moment to shudder with revulsion.

Loki's countenance appeared more ghostly than flesh-and-blood, better suited for a cadaver than the powerful, frightening demigod he usually was. In light of the current situation, I had forgotten his recent physical battering. It seemed as though he had been hiding his true condition from me. But why reveal his weakness now? In front of this – this _Thing?_

The thought had scarcely crossed my mind before I felt something sticking into my back, directly between my shoulder blades. A weapon of some sort, I had no doubt. A soft chittering noise emanated from behind me, and I smelt the rotten breath of one of the Chitauri. I drew in a deep breath of the tainted air, but didn't flinch.

Loki's response was slow in coming, and I could have sworn I heard an underlying tremor in his smooth Asgardian tones, even amidst the blaring of the sirens. "Enough to make your visit unwelcome."

The Thing laughed, an unpleasant sound that reminded me of an old man's hacking cough. "You are fool, Loki Laufeyson. And you will _suffer_ for your foolish ways." It had a peculiar way of speaking, emphasizing the last syllable of every word with a voice that rattled deep in its chest.

Then there was a startling _whump _as the door slid up behind us. I stiffened, and would have whirled around to look if I hadn't been pinned in place by the Chitauri. For a moment, all was eerily still. I knew that, if I had eyes in the back of my head, I would see at least three SHIELD agents standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway, all heavily armed. And probably staring at this mess in terror.

The silence was abruptly shattered. One of the Chitauri squawked in anger, somebody yelled, a gun went off, and a thick layer of ice suddenly began to slide across the walls as Loki shouted a foreign word and flung his arm out toward the Thing.

And then the mayhem began in earnest.

The rest of the Chitarui fired randomly, eliciting screams of pain from behind me. Gun shots peppered around me, reversing the sounds of a second ago. Chitauri charged the agents, swinging their long, strange guns wildly and screeching. One came at me.

I immediately threw myself to the ground, kicking out with both legs as I went down. They connected with something solid. A laser blast went off directly over my head, and I glanced up in time to see it make a blackened dent in the wall.

Before I could catch my breath, my assassins "sixth sense" kicked in and I rolled sideways, springing to my feet. A regular bullet plowed into the ground where I had been lying half a second before. I was being attacked from both sides.

I spun to the left, nearly whacking an irate Chitauri in the face with my elbow. It screamed something garbled, swinging its weapon in my direction, but I was too close. The long barrel smacked me in the shoulder as I darted in closer to the monster. I seized the end of it, neatly yanking it out of the Chitauri's hand. The horrible, stinking beast made a grab for my throat, but I ducked, bashing it over the head with its own ray gun. It collapsed on the floor, senseless.

Taking a quick breath, I scanned the room for Loki. He and the Thing were backed into a corner, nearly hidden behind the waves of Chitauri that were now streaming through the portal. I thought I saw something flash between Loki's hands—not the Tesseract, for I could see that radiating on the floor to my right. The object may have been cubical—but I couldn't be sure.

A moment later, I was forced to shoot down three offending Chitauri with the weapon I had seized. The SHIELD agents did not seem to be directing any of their fire at myself or at Loki, despite the close call earlier. Obviously the invading alien army made us seem minor annoyances by comparison.

The clamor of the alarms and the glowing three-dimensional portal, as well as the dying shrieks of the Chitauri and of the SHIELD agents, created such a general aura of confusion and chaos that my senses were quickly overwhelmed. I tuned out everything except immediate danger, striving to ignore the alarms and cries of distress.

A Chitauri sent a laser blast at my head, but I ducked behind the metal bench, then returned fire, killing my opponent with an ease that seemed almost pathetic. Two more fell, either to my pilfered weapon or to my bare hands when the gun died. And then five more. Then six. After two dozen, I lost count.

Gradually, I was pushed around the large cell as Chitauri continued to pour through the portal. The Tesseract's strange blue glow began to fade. I thought it was just the portal closing, but if anything, it seemed to expand. Yet when I looked around for the blue cube, I couldn't find it.

A harsh shout rang over the general bedlam, drawing my attention. It was The Thing. It had somehow managed to push Loki into the concrete wall and scrambled on top of two dead Chitauri. Loki, white-faced and bleeding heavily from a cut on his cheek, peeled himself out of the wall, leaving a demigod-shaped dent in the concrete. He grimaced and flicked a hand at The Thing. A shockwave, glowing green around the edges, blasted from his palm and rocketed towards the dark creature. It had no effect. Loki slumped and spun his hands in front of him, blurring the air between them.

A Chitauri leapt at me, forcing me to turn from the fascinating battle to kill it. When I looked back a second later, Loki held a strange object. It glowed like the Tesseract did, but it appeared to be made of fractured glass. Loki held it away from his body with _blue_ fingers tight around intricate handles on either side of the rectangle. Icy wind spewed from it, wrapping around The Thing, but not touching him. Loki scowled and pushed the box forward, but it still had no effect.

In a sudden movement, The Thing jumped through the wind and reached for Loki. At the last moment, the demigod drew his arms in and spun to the side. His box vanished, replaced by the spear. But before he could make a move, The Thing lashed out and grabbed both Loki's arms, lifting him into the air. The spear clattered to the ground.

I was shoving my way to them before I realized what I was doing.

The Thing laughed maniacally, lifting Loki higher. Loki strained and writhed in the monster's grip, but couldn't seem to move enough to cast any magic. A faint red glow appeared Loki. He suddenly stopped struggling and stared at The Thing, eyes wide and mouth hanging open a little.

"Do continue your pathetic squirming," The Thing growled. "It will but serve to end your life sooner. You should feel honored. I do not often use a leeching spell on my enemies."

I scooped up Loki's spear and held it uncertainly. The weapon vibrated with energy in my hand. Loki choked and kicked at The Thing, who just laughed. I couldn't stand it anymore. Lunging forward, I plunged the spear into the back of The Thing's knee. It roared, silencing the room for a split second. The Thing dropped Loki and spun to me, but I had already freed the spear and darted around. I stabbed upward into its side. Another painful roar shook the room.

Loki was on his feet, and although bleeding heavily, he managed to cast another shock wave.

Just in time.

The Thing, apparently dismissing me in favor of its real target, turned past me to swing at Loki. The demigod couldn't move fast enough and was flung across the room, flattening three Chitauri and an agent.

Another wave of Chitauri came through the portal, and I ran into them, swinging Loki's spear. The Thing, miraculously, seemed to have entirely forgotten about me. Apparently my efforts had had little effect on the beast. Loki pushed his way though the crowd to me, swaying slightly.

"What are we going to do?" I shouted over the noise.

He just shook his head and grabbed the spear from my hands, replacing it with a new Chitauri gun. Then he moved toward The Thing again, who had been temporarily preoccupied by five agents with machine guns.

Six Chitauri heads later, all the agents were down, but Loki had re-engaged the monster.

They flew around the room, bombarding each other with bursts of raw energy. I watched Loki out of the corner of my eye as I killed monster after monster. He was slowing. Blood now coated his entire face and arm and dribbled down his torso from a cut on his stomach. The Thing showed no sign of tiring. On the contrary, it continued to laugh madly, as if it were simply toying with the demigod.

I disarmed another Chitauri, the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind. With both long weapons in hand, I scrambled to a quieter corner of the cell and ducked behind two agents. Relatively safe for the moment, I raised both guns and quickly sighted The Thing. It had Loki backed into a corner again and busily sending magical bolts at Loki's flickering translucent shield. I took a deep breath and let it out, focusing. Loki dropped to his knees, shield gone. I pulled both triggers. Twin blue lasers flew across the room and hit the back of The Thing's head. I fired as rapidly as I could, each glowing bullet hitting home.

The Thing let loose a sound of rage reminiscent of the Hulk and turned around. I let loose a stream of bullets that flew right into its cowl. The agents I stood behind seemed to get the idea and aimed at the same place. The Thing shouted something incomprehensible. Loki slowly got up, panting, and raised his spear. I fired a few more times before one of the triggers clicked. I dropped the gun, re-sighted with the remaining one, and continued firing. The Thing glided toward us.

Closer, closer, closer.

His rancid smell and icy aura became apparent.

The agents dived out of the way.

I fired twice more, but then the gun died.

The Thing was almost on me when Loki let loose a hoarse war cry to my right. Half a second later, a wave of blue energy knocked The Thing halfway across the room. There was a pause before whoever was free continued to fire at its face.

With a wordless howl, the Thing climbed to its feet. "You will suffer, Laufeyson!" he shouted.

"I will suffer from your ridiculous threats, yes," Loki replied, eyes narrowed as he prepared another blast from his spear.

With another shout of rage, the Thing floated up into the portal and vanished, leaving his Chitauri to kill us.

With one less thing to worry about, I took a deep breath and dived back into the bloody fight. It must have been less than a minute later that I felt the floor rumbling beneath my feet. I held my balance, taking advantage of the distraction to eliminate my most recent opponent, but my heart quailed. _What was that?_

Mere seconds later, I felt someone go back to back with me in the midst of the frenzy. Ice crept along the floor beneath my feet, and an equally cold voice hissed in my ear, "The portal is collapsing!"

I stabbed a Chitauri through the neck with the pointed barrel of its own weapon, gasping with effort, but kept my back pressed against Loki's. "What?" I shouted, trying to make myself heard in the din.

I felt Loki jerk slightly, and then twist to his right, jabbing forward. I assumed he had fended off another attack. "The portal!" he snarled impatiently, but the quaver in his voice did not escape my notice. "This entire fortress will give way!"

Black blood spattered against my leather uniform as I dispatched two Chitauri, one after the other. Once I had regained my bearings, I yelled, a touch of anger coloring my protest, "What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

For a moment, I thought we were going to be separated in the melee, but Loki reached back and caught my shoulder with one hand. His grasp was weaker than I though possible from an Asgardian, and had I not been gripping my only weapon in both hands, I would have whirled around and clung to him in my sudden surge of panic. He was my only ticket out of this bloodbath. If he died, or if he teleported away and we were separated, I would be left alone to fend for myself against the Chitauri, and then the agents.

Nick Fury had thought I had betrayed them from the day Loki had first spirited me away, and Maria Hill no doubt possessed similar convictions. As terrible an injustice as it had seemed to me at the time, I had no choice now but to live up to my status as Case Red. In SHIELD, there were no second chances. Barton was the only agent who had ever thought differently.

"Lend me—your energy!" Loki spat, as if the very words tasted sour in his mouth. Yet the desperation in them was palpable. Thus drawn back into the present moment, I tried to dispel thoughts of Barton and concentrate on the problem at hand. Loki couldn't mean that literally… could he? And how was I supposed to "lend" him anything so intangible?

"What?" I said again, feeling about as dumb as I sounded.

"Are you deaf, woman?" roared Loki, some of his former vehemence returning. His voice thundered in my ears, and I nearly yelped in surprise.

I had no time to retort, however; for the ground suddenly vibrated again, and the walls of the cell began to shake.

Loki muttered something that sounded to me like gibberish, and several of the Chitauri fell dead even as they were skulking towards us. We were no longer in immediate danger, though that could change at any moment. Loki sagged momentarily against me, and I was reminded of his current weakness. Frankly, it seemed a miracle that he was still fighting. I turned around to look at him directly. He appeared even worse than before: blood soaked, sallow-cheeked and hollow-eyed, and something wet streamed down the side of his face. Was it a tear? I stared for a split second, captivated. If indeed it was, it must have been a tear of pure frustration, because he reached out and gripped my hand with such force I could have cried out in pain. But I dropped my weapon and simply stared up at him, shocked into silence.

And then I felt it… the horribly familiar sensation of being shifted from one reality into another… The room around us blurred slightly, but this time, no new vision appeared. Nor did we descend into the black and eerie nothingness between the worlds.

Loki's eyes closed, shoulders slumping, and all at once I had to fight to stifle a scream. Icy fingers penetrated the hand he now held. They zinged up my arm, setting every nerve on fire and reaching toward my heart. I was paralyzed. I couldn't move, or breathe, or even close my eyes against the glaring light of the portal that silhouetted Loki's slumped form.

The terrible, knife-like fingers crept over my torso, just beneath the skin, and slowly delved into the core of my being. They stretched, wrapping around my ribcage, and something like frost seemed to glaze my heart. Blood turned to ice in my veins. Something was being pulled out of me, stolen, ripped from my body. Loki's eyes snapped open. I felt suddenly weak, and if I had not been frozen in place, I would have collapsed on the floor.

His cold green eyes had taken on a glassy appearance, but some of the color returned to his face. He inhaled slowly, as if savoring some newfound relief, and then squeezed my hand.

The vibrations that had been running through the floor beneath us suddenly became more violent. The walls bent inwards and the ceiling heaved. Out of the corner of my eye, lost as I was in my inner distress, I saw the size of the portal shrink slightly, but it bulged outward in frightening manner.

The trembling ground beneath my feet gave one final heave—

And then the cell turned black, the noise and alarm slowly fading to nothing.

The invisible hand withdrew from my veins, and I cried out in mixed agony and relief, falling against Loki. He caught me, holding me at arms length, before I upset his balance. There was a brief moment where nothing seemed clear. Memories that were not my own flickered across my mind, like confused shadows. Strange and muddled voices rushed past, like summer winds. The only constant was Loki's hands clenching my shoulders.

Finally, the forest house appeared out the swirling vortex of color and sound. Loki released me and I immediately collapsed, barely catching the edge of the counterpane on my way to the tiled floor. I clung to it like it was my lifeline, my arms reaching up and my legs and lower torso sprawled across the tiles. Loki stood beside me. He appeared to have some trouble inhaling as well, but he merely bent over, bracing his palms against his knees and breathing hard.

For a moment, we remained next to each other in the center of the kitchen, panting and exhausted.

"Well," Loki coughed after a minute, slowly straightening. "We escaped without significant injury."

"That's… debatable," I said wearily, using the drawer handles to drag myself up into a standing position. I gave up after several seconds and merely flopped backwards, bracing my elbows on the counter and stretching my legs out. The pads on my boots kept me from sliding forward.

Then I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes. I no longer saw any bruises on his face, or open wounds. Just dried blood. How could he have healed himself so quickly?  
I glared across the kitchen at him, feeling my knees threaten to give way. My arms trembled just from the effort of bracing myself up on the counter. "What… did you… do to me?" I demanded breathlessly.

A small smirk crossed Loki's face, much to my annoyance. "Nothing that a little rest will not cure. You merely aided in our escape. I cannot move through the dimensions if I do not possess the energy required for such a transportation."

I stared at him, the light slowly dawning in my mind. "Wait—so you took the energy you needed… from _me_?"

"Your genius is as formidable as ever."

Tired of his constant sarcasm but literally unable to move from my current position, I decided to use his good humor to my advantage. Time for an interrogation. "Why didn't you teleport earlier?"

"You might not have noticed, but I was rather busy fighting off The Other."

"The Other?" I blinked.

"The large, cloaked monster you attempted to subdue," he said with a touch of exasperation. "I betrayed him when I took the Tesseract for myself and did not grant him access to Midgard within the allotted time." For some inexplicable reason, Loki smirked.

"What about the portal?" I asked stiffly, willing my lungs to expand. It was inexplicably hard to breathe, I decided privately that Loki had overdone it a bit. If I'd had enough gumption, I would have berated him for taking so much of my strength.

Loki's smirk mellowed slightly, and he turned his back to me, moving to the sink to wash the black smatterings of blood and the filth from earlier combat off his hands. I stared, taken aback, as he splashed water up his arms and onto his face. "It collapsed, I am certain, as it did upon my arrival. The Chitauri—and those insufferable agents—have been very effectively buried."

"And the Tesseract?"

Loki reached for the soap that was sitting next to the sink. "Gone," he proclaimed. "Burned down through the floor, and presumably deeper than that. With a fair amount of luck, it will find a home in the heart of Midgard, and I shall be able to carry out my Plan without another such interruption. I do not fear of the Tesseract's return."

The word "fear" jumped out at me, and I watched Loki closely. He was lathering up his hands, and though his back was to me, I thought I saw a hint of relief in his posture. His shoulders had relaxed, and he didn't appear nearly so stiff and unapproachable as he had in the cell base.

I paused, searching for my next question. The twisted, angry face of Barton's clone appeared in my mind's eye, and I flinched, swallowing hard. How could I ask Loki about something so painful? I didn't think I could bear another callous remark.

"Loki," I began carefully. "About those papers… the ones in your desk."

He froze for a moment, his hands cupped under the running water.

"They aren't… I mean, I saw… I found…" I struggled to find the right words, but they eluded me. Yet Loki refrained from interrupting. "SHIELD _did_ clone Barton," I finally gasped, feeling as though I had been struck a blow in the stomach. "And they tried to use him—use him—" My heart lurched. "—to trick me, and lure me in. I—I killed him. _It._ I killed… the clone," I finished unsteadily. I knew my explanation had been strange and incomplete, but for some reason I had no doubt that Loki would understand what I was trying to say.

The demigod was silent for a while. "That wasn't exactly how I planned to get you to trust me. It was probably the most painful option for you, actually…" He rinsed the last of the soap from his hands and grabbed a dishrag to dry them off. "However, it did work."  
"Sure. Whatever. Cheers," I said, pretending to lift a glass. Reluctant to carry the conversation any further, I said no more.

Loki opened his mouth, but right then, a small shape tumbled into the kitchen.

"Na!" Brita screeched, running right into my legs. I nearly fell over, but Loki put a steadying hand on my shoulder.

"Brita," I breathed, bending down to pick her up. "Are you alright?"

"Na go 'way!" Her blue eyes searched mine, desperate for an answer.

"Yes, I'm sorry, dear. I had... I had to go..."

"She had to save the world," Loki put in quietly.

Brita whipped her head around to the demigod, mouth falling into a perfect 'O.' "Na's a superhero!" she gasped a second later.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing—or bursting into tears. If Brita knew how wrong she was...

"Yes, she is a wonderful one," Loki encouraged.

Brita squirmed in my arms and I set her down with a small sigh of relief. After Loki's little magic trick, the little girl seemed heavier than she should have. Brita eased in front of Loki.

"Truth?" she said, looking up at him. She only came to his knee.

Loki knelt down to her level and looked her right in the eye. "Truth," he repeated with such solemnity that I could only stare in amazement.

She giggled and then held out one pudgy hand, eyes brighter than before. "Goldfish?"

Loki reached dramatically behind his back, and then withdrew—with great flourish—a bag of the little crackers Brita enjoyed. She squealed with pleasure, snatched the whole bag, and then, with a covert sideways glance at me, scampered out of the room. Loki stood up again, giving me an amused look. I replied with a half-hearted smile. Occasionally, he seemed like a wonderful person, but most of the time...

We were silent for another few minutes until my stomach grumbled loudly.

Loki started, and then genuinely laughed. "I suppose you are allowed to eat now, my dear Natasha. That was, I have to admit, a good fight on your part. Consider all your punishments lifted. Now..." He grinned mischievously. "How does crab cake eggs benedict sound?"

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**


	23. Fish and Chips

Loki promised we could eat, (and not benedict, thankfully) after Brita was cared for. In other words, after I tucked her into bed like some doting mother. I didn't mind. She looked like an angel, with the covers pulled up to her chin and strawberry blonde hair splayed on the light blue pillowcase. Brita fell asleep quickly, much to my relief. And given the crumpled silver bag on the floor, she also seemed to have eaten nearly the entire bag of Goldfish.

Shaking my head, I quietly closed the door on the peaceful child. I slowly released the knob, trying not to make noise. When I turned, Loki was standing inches away.

My breath hitched. "I hate it when you do that," I whispered menacingly.

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall continue to do it." Loki smiled broadly and resumed speaking before I could respond. "Now, before we go, I will require that you clean up." A sweep of his hand, and a bag of clothes appeared once again. "Do not be longer then twenty minutes, Natasha."

Loki strode off down the hall into his room, leaving me flustered and confused.

"Okay…" I muttered, peering into the bag. I was shocked at the contents. There was no showy, slinky dress. There were no immense bottles of hairspray and perfume. There were no diamond jewels. There was, in fact, no visible bling of any sort.

Just a pair of dark blue jeans and a nice, plain white sweatshirt, and—nestled between them—some simple hair conditioner and a bar of soap. Where on earth were we going? And why couldn't he just feed me _now?_ I was starving! Why did he have to make such an occasion of everything?

Deciding that it would be better to do as he ordered than stand around and complain for twenty minutes, I showered off upstairs and dressed myself in the designated outfit. It felt nice, simple and down-to-earth.

And when I stepped out of the bathroom, I was meant by another pleasant surprise. All the blood, gore, and cuts were gone from the demigod's face. Loki wore jeans and a heavy gray wool coat over a green shirt. He looked positively normal.

"You like green," I commented.

"Of course." Loki held out his arm, and I took it, stomach grumbling loudly. The forest house went black, replaced by overcast skies and tiny flakes of swirling snow. The town, or rather, city, Loki had teleported to this time was a strange mix of Victorian store fronts and glass skyscrapers. A few small cars buzzed passed on the narrow roads, spraying slush onto the nearly empty sidewalks. What few people there were hurried past, shopping bags in hand and scarves covering their faces.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Canada."

"Canada?" I yelped. "I thought we were still in Norway or something..."

"Victoria, British Columbia, to be precise." Loki pulled his arm away from mine and tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, scanning the streets around us. "Come." With his usual curtness, Loki walked away without bothering to see if I was coming. Not that I was inclined to leave, if he was buying me food. My stomach growled again, echoing my thoughts.

Letting out a breath that steamed the cold air, I took a couple of jogging steps to catch up to Loki. He glanced down at me. "What kind of food do you prefer?"

I was stunned by his courtesy. "Um, er, anything, really."

"Then you would not object to fish and chips?"

I blinked. "No."

Loki nodded, looking off down the road. "Very well."

Our walk continued in almost companionable silence. We passed a small knot of tourists coming out of a cozy looking bakery and tea shop. Their carefree laughter and burst of heat from the interior almost made me wish for a normal life. But here I was, walking down the street next to an insane demigod who was trying to take over the world, and yet seemed to be the only person who cared for me… Nothing had ever been normal about my life. Not now, not ever.

Loki looked at me again. "Are you cold?"

"... No."

"You shivered."

"I did?"

"When we passed that bakery a moment ago."

"Oh." I shoved my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. "I guess it was just the temperature change." For some reason, I felt utterly awkward. Actually, I knew why. Loki was being nice, and had been for the past half hour. It must have been some kind of record.

Loki led me across the street and down a small city block to a small, unobtrusive door. A wooden sign hung a little crookedly overhead, bearing the faded words: Old Vic Fish 'n Chips.

"You weren't kidding."

"Of course not. Fish and chips are one of the only palatable foods in this realm." Loki pushed open the door, a tiny silver bell announcing our arrival.

"Hey there!" A curvy blonde woman popped her head out from behind a door to our right. "Take a seat anywhere. I'll be there in a sec'!"

The ancient wooden floor creaking underneath his boots, Loki made his way over the booth farthest from the door while I paused to take in the room. At first glance, it just seemed like a dingy little restaurant, but entrancing details soon became apparent. The vaulted ceiling with criss-crossing heavy beams; the old fashioned, high-backed wooden booths; a few framed photos of obscure, long dead celebrities; the reek of beer, fried fish, and antiquity. I smiled. Barton would have hated this place.

"Natasha?" Loki's smooth voice seemed to physically draw me across the groaning floorboards and onto the torn green vinyl seat. In a very undignified series of scoots, I slid to the center of the massive booth, feeling more like an awkward pre-teen than a master assassin. My stealth and grace always seemed to vanish when I was doing mundane, everyday things. Loki gave me a condescending smile.

"You had to do it, too," I muttered, leaning my forearms on the table.

"Ah, but did you see it?"

I hadn't. Quickly, I tried to formulate a clever reply, but luckily the waitress came over before my silence became too long.

"Welcome to Old Vic Fish 'n Chips!" she said in a chirpy voice, tucking a strand of dyed blonde hair under her tie-dye bandanna. She dumped two stained menus on the table. "We gots fish, and chips!"

Loki didn't say anything, staring resolutely down at his menu.

"Er, great." I forced a smile.

The waitress burst out laughing. "Ah, I'm just kiddin' ya. We also have peas!" Still laughing to herself, she scuttled away, returning a second later with two plastic cups of ice water.

Loki slowly looked up from the table. "If you weren't so hungry..." he murmured, looking past me to where the waitress had disappeared too.

"What? You don't like cheery people?" I picked up my menu and scanned it. There was more than fish and chips (and peas) but not by much.

"Not especially."

Without raising my head, I looked up at him. Snow melted into his dark hair, giving it a wet, shiny look. He caught my eye, and the barest hint of his former smile returned. "What is it that you want to ask me?"

I frowned at him, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"There is always a question in your eyes. And now," Loki declared quietly, "I give you permission to ask anything you like." He glanced up at me from beneath arched brows, every square centimeter of his face expressing curiosity and a strange, guarded pleasure in his words, as of someone who wished to be open but was reluctant to completely leave his previous reservations behind.

"And may I expect a direct reply?" I asked doubtfully. Loki was nothing, if not sly. He knew exactly how to manipulate his words. No wonder he had all the British politicians eating out of the palm of his hand.

"If it is within my power."

Figuring that was as good an answer as I could reasonably hope for, I launched into my first burning question: "Is Steve—er, is Captain Rogers still alive?"

Loki's emerald eyes darkened. "I do not know his whereabouts, but I believe he survived. If he is dead, it was not I who killed him."

Something in his tone made me drop the subject. I wondered whether he had had the chance to terminate the Captain… and stayed his hand. It was a possibility. After a beat, I inquired, "Why didn't you spirit us out of that cell before all the chaos started?"

One eyebrow slid up just a bit higher than the other. "Why didn't you ask me then?"

I glared. "Straight answers," I reminded him.

Loki was preparing an answer when the waitress returned with a notepad and oversized, furry pink pencil in hand. His eyes narrowed.

"What'll it be?" The waitress flashed a huge smile.

"Um..." I looked down at the menu, jarred from our intense conversation.

"The cod is always good," she suggested helpfully.

"I guess-"

"We'd like more time," Loki cut in, his voice like frozen asphalt.

"Oh." The waitress' face fell. "Well, I'll be back." She tucked the giant pencil behind her ear and turned to leave. The movement caused it to fall out and hit the floor with a soft clatter. "Whoops!" She knelt down to grab it, tucking it behind her ear again as she rose. A step forward and it slipped again. The waitress repeated the process four more times before shoving the pencil in her pocket with a sly look at us.

I stared at her back. Was she... for real?

"I regret this more and more," Loki said under his breath.

My attention zeroed in again. The demigod had offered to answer all my questions; an opportunity I could not pass up. "Give me a straight answer," I repeated, leaning across the table. "Why didn't you magic yourself away as soon as they took you into custody?"

Loki raised a pale hand in surrender. "Very well, though you already know the answer: I lacked the energy required for such an endeavor. Fighting The Other only compounded the problem. Let that satisfy your inquiring mind, and be done with it, for the principles of magic are beyond Midgardian comprehension."

Feeling insulted and foolishly deciding on a saucy reply, I said smoothly, "So what you're saying is that you are far from invincible."

Loki's expression remained neutral. "I am saying that I have limitations. So do we all," he said gravely. "There is only One who is invincible, and I doubt even a hundred of Asgard's wisest magicians could wield so much as a fraction of His power. I am not immortal."

"From the way you've been acting—"

Loki stopped me with a sharp look.

I swallowed the rest of my sentence and folded my hands under the table.

"You would do well to remember," he murmured, his voice sinking to a dangerous low, "that you are not immortal, either. If not for my intervention-"

"Have you decided yet?"

"No!" Loki barked, glaring up at the chipper woman. "It's only been a minute!"

"We'll take two cod specials," I said quickly, for tears had instantly formed in her eyes. The waitress nodded and scribbled something down before turning away with a sniff. We sat in silence until she was out of hearing range before I hissed, "Really? You want to make the stupid girl cry?"

Loki glared at me and continued the conversation as if we had not been interrupted. "If not for my intervention, you would have died long before now."

"I wouldn't have been in peril if _you_ hadn't dragged me into your conspiracy in the first place!"

Loki leaned back in the booth, narrowing his eyes at me. "I seem to recall that we've had this discussion before. It is pointless to continue."

"Did it ever occur to you that I'm not just some mindless robot for you to do with as you please?" I growled. "I have my own emotions and ideas!"

"Yes, and you express them so eloquently," Loki said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I glowered up at him, feeling heat rise to my face. "But you never listen!" I protested, feeling my mouth twist into a snarl. "_You never listen!"_

Loki raised a finger. "I do. But I tend to ignore your advice. You cannot see my vision for this world, and listening to your every prejudiced opinion would hardly be beneficial."

I huffed, sitting back in the booth and crossing my arms. "I can't see your vision because you never share anything with me. How am I supposed to help you if I don't know what you want?"

That seemed to give Loki pause. He braced his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together, though his palms did not touch. That particular posture gave him a decidedly villainous appearance, as did the unsavory gleam in his eye. "Very well."

"Very well what?" I felt suddenly wary.

"You wish to know my plans. I am willing to divulge whatever I can," he explained quietly. "If—" Here he leaned forward. "—you are willing to cooperate with me. No more tricks."

Stunned as I was by his offer, I managed a sarcastic reply. "Ah, yes, because I'm the god of mischief, and tricks are what I'm known for."

Loki's face went a shade paler than usual and I leaned back slightly—just in time for the waitress to pop in again.

"Here ya go!" No longer upset, the exuberant blonde set down both plates with a loud clatter. "Two cod specials." While our promised peas looked soggy, the fish and bed of french fries looked surprisingly appetizing. My stomach rumbled loudly in approval of the heavenly smell of deep-fried food. "And now, for your entertainment!"

Loki and I both looked up sharply.

From the large pockets of her apron, the waitress pulled out three brightly colored balls. Oh no...

"Juggling!" she cried, tossing the all balls into the air at once. Surprisingly, she managed to send the balls around for several seconds before losing control. One landed harmlessly on the ground at her feet, but the other two... One smacked into the center of Loki's plate, sending french fries flying, and the other somehow ended up in my untouched glass of water. Ice-cold water sprayed everywhere, drenching our food and clothes.

The waitress' mouth fell open. "Whoops," she whispered.

I had known Loki for such a length of time now that I saw it coming well before he had moved so much as a hair. His Midgardian apparel made way for his armor and his spear appeared in his hand just as I sprang at the woman, tackling her to the floor. I closed my eyes, waiting to die—but nothing happened.

When I looked up, I saw Loki standing above us, the tip of the weapon inches away from my face. The waitress struggled out from under me with a gasp. Loki seized the moment and thrust his spear toward her shoulder blades.

And then I did something more on instinct than initiative. If I had had time to think about it, I'm not sure I would have done it. I reached out, my lightning-fast reflexes catching even me off guard, and grabbed the neck of the spear.

My adrenaline-inducing panic made me temporarily strong, and I wrenched the spear upwards, diverting it from its original course and giving the waitress enough time to scramble behind the counter. Despite the strangeness of our situation, it occurred to me that going out to dinner with a supervillain was exactly as difficult as it sounded.

Loki locked eyes with me, and for an instant we battled each other in silence. He was naturally bigger and more muscular than me, but his gift of partial Asgardian strength worked with my inherent abilities and furious temper to delay him for a moment.

He finally wrenched the spear out of my grasp, sending me staggering backwards. I quickly regained my balance and, on impulse, took hold of his arm. My forward approach must have surprised him, because—amazingly—he did not tear away from my grasp.

Before Loki could react, I walked right through the quaintly decorated wall of the restaurant, and we found ourselves standing in a cluttered bookshop. The air was musty and the store was dark, apparently not open. Not waiting for Loki to say anything, I whispered, struggling to keep my voice from shaking, "What were you thinking?!" I squeezed his sleeve.

Loki gave me a wrathful stare, and I noticed that his pupils were dilated. That didn't bode well. "Such behavior," he informed me angrily, "would hardly be permitted in the halls of Asgard!"

"Victoria, BC, is hardly 'the halls of Asgard.'" I snarled. Letting go of his arm, I peeled the hem of my soaked sweatshirt away from my skin and inspected the watermarks on the fabric. "Clothes will dry!" I insisted. "And she didn't hurt anybody! I can't believe you were about to… to…" Loki said nothing, and I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling awkward. "Go back and apologize."

"I shall not." Loki lifted his chin and glared down at me, as imperious as ever.

I stepped toward the wall. "Then I'm going back and apologizing for the both of us. I'm hungry."

And with that, I left him standing in the bookstore, and reentered the restaurant. The waitress was kneeling beside the counter, sobbing. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Loki had followed me through the wall. How had be done that? However, he was once again attired in civilian clothes and his countenance was more pacific.

"Ma'am?" he said.

She looked up with a cry of alarm, but I stepped in front of Loki and gave her a shaky smile. "We'd like a refill on the water, please," I said gently, glaring at Loki out of the corner of my eye. He slowly and deliberately seated himself at the table, smoothing his hands over his soaking wet jeans and staring blankly off somewhere to my right.

The waitress blinked at me with red-rimmed eyes.

I grabbed my empty water glass, removed the orange juggling ball, and extended both to her. She crossed the room very slowly, her sneakers squeaking on the wet floor. I noticed that though she accepted my water glass, she made no move to take Loki's, and stayed as far away from him as physically possible.

"I could—I could bring you another helping of cod…" she began, reaching for my plate, but I protectively encircled the meal with my arms, shaking my head vigorously.

"This is just fine, thank you," I assured her.

She nodded silently and retreated to the kitchen with my empty glass. As soon as she was gone, I grabbed the nearest piece of soggy fish and tore into it like a wild animal, beyond caring about appearances. My stomach was screaming for something to digest, and I was determined to fill it as quickly as possible, no matter the quality of the food. When I looked up from my voracious meal, Loki was watching me with wide-eyed wonder. Apparently he had not guessed the full consequences of his punishment. I was, quite literally, starving.

Several awkward minutes passed without the waitress returning. We ate in silence with me shoving food down as fast as possible and Loki picking delicately at his fries. I knew I had crossed the invisible line and was once again on Loki's bad side, but now that my stomach was full, everything else seemed unimportant.

"Well," I finally encouraged, wiping my mouth with a napkin, "I thought you were going to share your plans with me." I raised an eyebrow at him. "You can start talking any time now."

Loki froze, a french fry halfway to his mouth. For a moment, I thought he was going to fling it across the table at me. Instead, he placed it quietly back on his plate and folded his hands on his lap.

"Chaos."

I stared at him, confused. "Chaos?"

"Chaos," he repeated. "I will dissolve the nations. Starting with…" Loki picked up a soggy piece of fish and examined it with a critical eye. "England."

"Why—"

"Because it was one of the Four Great Empires in recent years."

I assumed he was referring to the days when Spain, England, Portugal, and France dominated the world. But… _recent years?_ That had been centuries ago. And when had he taken up reading Midgardian history books? And why England? Why not France, or Spain, or Portugal?

I decided to let it slide. "Then where?"

"The States," he murmured, letting a hint of a smile curve his mouth. "And then China. And then... the final stage... whoever causes the most trouble."

Was he serious? I frowned. "Why cause chaos in such… subtle ways? Why not just gather an army, subdue all the countries, and declare this world your new empire?"

"I do not wish to kill this world's entire population. An unstable government is prone to collapse. I shall simply step in to fill the void."

I pushed my plate to the center of the table and let out a tired sigh. "As if it were really that simple."

A tiny smirk. "It is. I have already given England its push, and am simply waiting for the pieces to tumble."

I stared down at my mostly empty plate. "The meth..." I realized. Everything suddenly clicked. "You stopped the prime minister's meth shipments to get him kicked out of office, and got a bunch of politicians to act as your puppets. You'll put them in power, but really..."

"I will be in charge," Loki confirmed with a wild gleam in his eyes. "But getting the prime minister to leave will not be as straight forward as you said."

"I don't want to know," I said quickly, still horrified by his actions. "Wait, the minister isn't-"

"He will fall within the week. As soon as you are recovered," Loki looked pointedly at my remaining fries, "We will retrieve Brita and move forward with my plan."

I hastily shoveled in the last of my food, eager to return to the little girl. Loki, somehow elegant, extracted himself from the booth and moved toward the door. "Aren't you going to pay?" I asked, sliding out to follow him.

"For that meal?" he said scornfully. "That woman is lucky you pitied her." There was a soft whimper from the kitchen. Loki sighed and pushed open the door.

I hesitated, called, "Sorry," over my shoulder, and stepped out into the swirling snow. Loki was waiting, a small smile on his face. "I don't like that look," I muttered, moving to his side.

"_You_ have no need to fear it." I looked up at him with I hoped was a scrupulous expression. His smile grew. "Shall we?" Loki extended his arm again, and the instant I touched it, Victoria vanished.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Sorry this took so long, guys! Muchas love to you all.**


	24. Messenger Girl

As the forest house faded into place around us, I glimpsed a rare moment of weariness in Loki. It lasted only for a second, in which his grip on my hand loosened to a mere touch, and he sagged against me. But then he stood up straight. It was if nothing had happened.

I pulled my hand free and took a step away from Loki, listening for Brita. A second passed, and I heard her humming to herself in the living room. A smile crossed my face at the sound. Without intending to, I had found myself rather fond of the little girl. I started to move toward her voice, but Loki touched my arm, stopping me.

"Fill this with anything you think you might need," Loki instructed, handing a modest leather suitcase to me. "Do not worry about changes of clothing – as I am sure you will find our suite well supplied – but I will not have time to go shopping for you."

I accepted the empty suitcase with a half-hearted nod. Oddly enough, I was rankled by this sudden move. Loki had dragged me across the planet several times before, but now we were leaving a place I had grown half-used to. For goodness sake, I had even given it a sort of name! It might not matter to the demigod, but somewhere in the depths of my soul I was keenly offended by the upheaval.

The first place I went was the downstairs bathroom. I opened the drawers and removed a hairbrush and a bottle of perfume, then crammed whatever makeup I could into the pockets of the suitcase. A bottle of body lotion lying in the back of the drawer caught my eye, and I retrieved it as well.

Then I marched up the stairs with the intention of visiting my bedroom, but I paused halfway through the library. Almost reluctantly, I glanced at the coffee table standing beside the comfy leather couch. The candle Loki had been reading by that night had disappeared, but _The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe _was lying on the glass surface, still opened to the pages of "The Raven."

I barely had time to think about what I was doing before I had crossed the room and picked up the dilapidated book. I had never been a terribly sentimental person… but just feeling the worn cover brought back strange memories, like a dream that I couldn't quite remember. I knew I had spent at least half the night on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with my head on Loki's shoulder—and yet, I couldn't picture it in my head. I skimmed the words once before closing it with a soft slap and tucking it away in the suitcase. I didn't really know why, and chose not to explore any potential reasons for my sudden attachment to the works of Edgar Allan Poe.

Detour over, I headed straight for my bedroom, though there wasn't really much there that I was interested in taking with me. I did take the little flashlight, just in case Brita decided to have another meltdown in the middle of the night.

Speaking of Brita…

I walked out into the hall and glanced into her bedroom. She was nowhere to be seen.

"Loki?" I called, hurrying back into the library room. When I reached the top of the stairs, I was relieved to see him standing below me in the hallway, doubled over as he attempted to restrain Brita. Both long arms were wrapped around her torso, but she was trying valiantly to wriggle out of his grasp. The expression on his face could hardly have been called amused.

"Are you quite ready?" he asked, an almost plaintive note in his voice.

I smirked. "Quite." I marched downstairs and extended a hand. Loki released Brita, brushing off his hands with a disdain that was almost comical. The girl flew away from the demigod, grabbing my hand and pressing her soft cheek against my side. "Na," she said firmly. Her large blue eyes stared back at him, obviously offended that he would dare to take my place.

Loki looked back at her, similarly affronted. "She is a wild thing," he said with conviction.

I attempted to give him a scrupulous expression, failing mightily. Instead, I fell back on a style favored by us both: sarcasm. "Oh, and we are both such calm and honorable human beings." As I spoke, I bent down and lifted Brita into my arms. She quickly wrapped her arms around my neck in a strangle-hold.

"I'm not human," Loki said quickly, raising a finger.

"You– Well–" I fumbled for words, furious at the silver-tongued man. Or demigod. My train of thought was abruptly cut off. Brita tightened her hold as Loki took one long step forward and grasped my other hand. The forest house vanished. I closed my eyes against the freezing wind and squeezed Brita close. Seconds later, warm sunlight bathed my eyelids, turning my vision red. Startled, I blinked around. My mouth fell open. The house Loki had chosen was not so much a house as a large, high ceilinged loft that seemed to be floating in the clouded sky. We faced two walls of solid windows with a miniscule kitchen to our right and a screened-off queen bed to our left. A long leather couch faced the windows directly before me, but there was little other furniture. Everything was sleek white and silver – it reminded me of Stark Tower, except on a smaller scale.

Brita scrambled in my arms, reached toward the windows. I set her down and she ran right up to a wall, smashing her face against it. "Oh..." she breathed, staring down.

I followed after the little girl and nearly gasped. We were near the top of an absolutely massive skyscraper right in the heart of downtown London. Thin grey clouds drifted by, partially obscuring our view of the city.

"I will be staying in a different loft, of course," Loki said demurely, appearing at my side. "If you ever have need of me, simply call. There is food, in case you were wondering," he added slyly.

"Actually, I was more concerned by how many people you had to kill to get this place," I whispered (cautious of Brita), still unable to tear my gaze away from the windows.

Loki said nothing in reply, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him hold out a manila envelope. I slowly turned to face him, glancing down at the packet in his hand.

"Take this to the Palace of Westminster, near the clock tower."

With great caution, I took the envelope between my thumb and forefinger, sliding it out of Loki's hand. "Big Ben," I guessed. "Am I supposed to meet someone there?"

Loki leaned in closer, his breath chilling my neck. "Yes. You will know who," he assured me before I could ask.

"But—"

"I will be much preoccupied tonight as it is. Please take it."

I glanced up in surprise. _Please? _That was a word I had assumed he had never known, let alone used. "Okay," I said quietly, amazed at his sudden politeness. "I'll take it."

Loki smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal his straight, white teeth. "Thank you, Natasha."

And he disappeared.

I tried to ignore the shivers that suddenly plagued me, and glanced down at the envelope in my hand, flipping it over to look at the back. It had no address or name or direction of any sort. Only an old-fashioned crimson seal stamped onto the paper. I stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out what it depicted. Then I realized that it wasn't a picture at all: it was a symbol. And it looked like one of those funny hieroglyphs from Old Norse mythology.

With a shake of my head and a sigh, I turned away from the window only to see Brita clambering onto my bed. "What are you—"

"Look, Na! Brita flying!" And with that, she began to bounce.

"Oh, no. Brita! Get down from there," I demanded. She would fall off and hit herself on something for sure.

She giggled and did a belly flop onto the quilt. "No!" was her pert reply.

After marching over to the bed, I grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her off of the mattress. "Bad!" I scolded.

Brita looked up at me with a devilish gleam in her eye. "Bad!" she repeated, lifting her tiny chin in defiance.

My knowledge of child discipline had now been exhausted. Not quite sure how to handle the situation, I knelt down and grabbed her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Brita was naughty to jump on the bed. That's Na's bed."

"Brita's bed too!"

And at that moment, it hit me.

I would have to share a room with her. And a bed. "Um…" I glanced over at the couch. No, that would never work with Brita. I supposed I could sleep on the couch instead of her, if I had to. I'd slept in worse places.

When I looked back at Brita, I saw tears glimmering in her big blue eyes. Her lower lip quivered slightly, and I realized I should have thought the situation through. She might be young, but she wasn't dumb. All she knew was that Na didn't want to be with her anymore.

A new thought suddenly occurred to me, and I bent down to pull up the plain white dust ruffle.

_Aha! Loki must have had pity on me._

"This is yours," I announced, pulling a trundle out from under my bed.

Brita's round little face brightened up immediately, and she smoothed down the sheets with her small hands, making a pleased humming sound.

While she was distracted, I flopped across the large queen-size mattress and closed my eyes, holding the envelope to my chest. I felt as if I were first spinning in circles, and then swaying to and fro on a hammock. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. How long had it been since I slept? Had it been with Loki in the library? How many days had gone by since then? Traveling from one end of the world to another had seriously messed up my internal clock. I knew from experience that if a person went without sleep for more than three days, they would usually start to hallucinate. The last thing I needed was a vision of Iron Man hovering outside the window, ready to blast me into the middle of next week, or an army of Clint Barton clones.

Before I quite knew what was happening, I had passed out on the bed.

* * *

I woke up to semi-darkness. Clouds had rolled across the sky, blotting out the light of the setting sun. I started to stretch, and then realized with a start that I was lying on top of Loki's letter. Alarmed, I rolled over and examined the manila envelope, hoping I hadn't drooled on it in my sleep. To my great relief, not so much as a wrinkle blemished the crisp surface.

Rolling out of bed and yawning, I moved toward the slim closet and quietly opened the door. I was greeted by a modest selection of clothes—though the clothes themselves were far less inconspicuous than the closet. But with SHIELD looking for me, the last thing I wanted to do was stand out in a crowd. I could wear the jeans and T-shirt… I just needed something that would cover my face.

I sorted through the dresses and designer jeans and cashmere blouses until I found a simple black sweatshirt with a hood. Perfect. I snatched it off the hanger and wriggled into it, stuffing the envelope in the spacious pocket.

"Brita?"

When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Brita lying sprawled on her trundle bed, playing with… something. What _was_ that? I crossed over to the bed again and reached down to take it away from her.

She jerked it away, but I had just enough time to see something flash in the sunlight that poured through the glass walls. It looked like metal of some sort. "Brita, give it to me."

The little girl only clenched her fist more tightly around the object, wrinkling her nose at me. "No!"

That was too much open disrespect for me to handle graciously. Irritated, I grabbed her fingers, prying them open. She squealed in displeasure as I took the medallion from her and held it up to the light.

It was flat, oblong, and black. Too hard and heavy to be a metal. When I turned it from side to side, a silvery sheen flickered across the surface, and I could see symbols engraved in the stone. They weren't English, Russian, Chinese, nor any language I knew of, but appeared similar in design to the seal on the envelope. I pulled it out of my pocket to compare. Yes. The style was the same.

"Where did you find this?"

Brita stuck out her lower lip in a pout and said nothing.

I sighed, stuffing it into the other pocket of my sweater. Loki had probably given it to her to keep her quiet while I was upstairs packing. Or perhaps she had taken it without his knowledge, although how she could have stolen it away from the Master Trickster himself was beyond me.

"Na has to go—" I stopped myself before I went any further. Now _I_ was talking in third person. "I have to go… run an errand for Loki. Be good while I'm gone, okay?"

Brita immediately panicked, attaching herself to my legs. "Noooo!" she wailed.

I'd had enough, innocent child or not. Trying to keep from yelling at the girl, I peeled her off of my jeans and headed for the door. "I'll be back in half an hour," I promised, but I wondered just how wise it was to leave her there alone.

"Na!" she cried one more time before I shut the door. But I could still hear her cries. Gathering my resolve, I strode away from the door and down a low-lit hallway to a pair of silver elevator doors. I punched the button and stepped back to wait. But then I hesitated. Between the recent fiasco at SHIELD and my impromptu tour of the elevator shaft in Stark Tower, I didn't really feel inclined to get into the tiny metal box. Luckily, there was a set of stairs behind me. The door to them was locked, but that was no real problem. Focusing on my thoughts, I stepped through the solid metal door and began to descend the stairs. They wound down and down and down, the cement steps and walls echoing with my footsteps. Before long, my head was spinning. But I kept jogging down, determined to deliver Loki's stupid letter and get back to Brita as soon as possible. Since when had I been his messenger girl, anyway?

When the stairs abruptly ended, I had to lean against the cool wall for almost a minute before I felt stable enough to face London's busy streets. Pulling open a heavy metal door, I stepped out and immediately made a face. It was now raining. Pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt as much to keep my hair dry as for the anonymity, I darted into the streets. A bus trundled past, soaking the couple in front of me with water. They cried out and swerved away from the road. I brushed past them, head down. The bus slowed to a stop about fifty meters away with a groan. A sudden idea struck me. I glanced up at the skyline and noted that Big Ben was way too far away to walk there in the rain. At least, not comfortably. Breaking into a jog again, I caught up with the bus and piled on in the midst of a group of tourists, slipping past the driver and seating myself near the back. Nobody seemed to have noticed.

London rolled past in a blur of grey and blue until I saw the Thames, and across the wide river, Big Ben. Deciding that I was close enough, I hopped off the bus and made my way to the massive clock tower.

Nobody stopped me, or even looked twice at me as I darted through the streets. When I finally reached the base, I stopped and leaned against it, watching the passersby and waiting. I couldn't do much else. There didn't appear to be anybody conspicuous standing outside. Was I supposed to go inside somewhere? I hadn't been given any exact instructions.

After five minutes, I was thoroughly soaked, and entirely unhappy with Loki. Rain dripped into my eyes as I glared at the happy, normal, civilized people going about their happy, normal, civilized lives. Most of the people who trudged past were carrying umbrellas. I wished I had one, but I couldn't leave until Loki's contact showed up. And I wasn't desperate enough to mug someone for an umbrella.

And the letter…

I reached into my pocket to feel the envelope. A sudden, pressing urge to tear it open and read it for myself came upon me, and I had to utilize every last ounce of self-control to keep from opening the letter. What would Loki need to write a letter for? Likely he had forged someone else's handwriting—I smiled at the thought—but to whom was he sending it, and why?

I was looking around for a drier place to stand when a black limousine suddenly pulled off to the side of the road, splashing water all over my jeans. Annoyed, I glared hotly at the driver, despite the fact that his face was hidden behind a tinted window.

Then the back window rolled down and a sallow, British face peered out into the rain. "Miss!"

I glanced briefly over my shoulder, but saw no other 'miss' standing idly near Big Ben.

The man gestured discreetly for me to get in the limo. "Miss!" he repeated, more loudly.

Several passersby were beginning to stare. Confused, I took several steps forward.

Before the chauffeur could step out to get the door, the gentleman flung it open himself and slid quickly to the opposite side of the car. "Get in," he ordered.

Was this really Loki's contact? Should I get in the limo, or just hand him the letter? Not that it mattered either way, since I was more than capable of neutralizing both him and the chauffeur if I had to… but I hesitated just long enough for a glimmer to catch my eye. I glanced sideways down the road and saw a large black Cadillac cruising slowly down the street.

A warning jolt of recognition raced through my body, but I resisted the impulse to fling myself headlong into the limo and slam the door behind me. It also occurred to me that my jeans and sweatshirt looked a little too casual. My efforts to blend in had backfired.

But I put on a façade of calmness and slid into the seat with the utmost delicacy, shutting the door gently. There was a click, and all of the handles locked in place. When I turned to the British gentleman, he was pressing a button on the door. "Drive on, Ridgely."

The limousine's smooth purr became a hum, and it moved slowly down the road, away from the clock tower. I glanced out the back windshield, thankful for the tinted glass, and—to my alarm—saw that the Cadillac was following. There was no identifying marks beside the license plate (which I quickly memorized out of habit), but the mere sight of it turned my stomach to acid. If the driver was who I _thought_ it was...

When I turned to mention it to the gentleman, I saw that he was holding out a hand expectantly. His hollow-cheeked face hadn't changed in expression.

"Oh." I pulled the letter from my pocket and handed it to him. "That's from Mister… Laufeyson."

"Ah, the foreign fellow." The man hastily tucked the letter beneath his overcoat.

I wondered how he knew Loki was foreign when the demigod spoke with a perfect, upper-crust British accent, but I decided against asking. There were more important questions to be answered. Such as…

"Where are we going?"

The gentleman looked down for a moment. "Around," he said vaguely. "Merely a precaution, Miss."

I nodded, familiar with this routine from my old career. This well-dressed, statesman-like individual was probably no more scrupulous than my old employers. The only difference was that this man was working for Loki, not operating on his own. That provided me a strange measure of comfort.

After two miles of turning corners, dodging pedestrians, and touring back alleys, the Cadillac was not only still shadowing us, it was gaining.

"Sir," I said slowly. "I suggest you tell the driver to step on it."

Another glance out the back windshield afforded me an even better view of the car. It had eased up behind us, and we were only three car-lengths ahead.

The man pressed the button on the door again. "Code periwinkle, Ridgely."

Periwinkle?

The limousine's hum became a dull roar as the chauffeur floored the gas pedal. I turned to look out the back window yet again and saw, to my horror, that the Cadillac had switched lanes and was easing up beside the limo.

There was a split second where the two automobiles were dead even. And then the Cadillac's passenger side window was lowered.

"Get down!" I shouted, grabbing the gentleman by the shoulders and throwing both of us to the floor of the limo. A gunshot spiked above the roar of the engines, followed instantly by the sound of shattering glass.

The limousine swerved, careening around a corner and then veering the other way. Then it slowed to a crawl.

I turned to make sure that the gentleman was unharmed, but he had pulled a handgun from beneath his overcoat and was crouched beside the seat, head lowered and finger on the trigger. Without another moment to lose, I scrambled over the backseat and smashed through the dividing panel, landing awkwardly in the front of the limo—right on top of the inert chauffeur.

My elbow was awkwardly braced against the side of his head, which was gushing blood. Panting, I shoved the body aside and grabbed the steering wheel with slippery hands, yanking it to the right just in time to avoid bumping into a brick wall. Glass covered the floor and front seat, and blood was soaking into my jeans, but I could hardly have cared less. Jamming my foot on the gas pedal, I steered the limousine back onto one of the main roads. The black Cadillac swerved around the corner seconds later, and several more gunshots were fired. One of the bullets came crashing through the passenger window and lodged itself in the dashboard.

"Bad, bad, bad," I muttered, trying to avoid a head-on collision with traffic. Horns beeped and wailed as I navigated the crowded streets, trying desperately to lose the Cadillac. I switched lanes every two seconds, went skidding down side-streets, and took a shortcut through a park that I'm pretty sure was illegal.

"Sir!" I yelled, unable to keep a hint of panic out of my voice. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The Cadillac was still close behind us. "Sir!"

There was no reply.

I turned a corner and was forced to slam on the brakes. I had just found a long line of traffic. Before I could back up, another car pulled in behind me. We were trapped—and Loki would probably kill me if I lost his contact.

"Get out! Now!" I shouted, seeing no route of escape with the massive limo.  
I dove through the broken side window, scraping my hand on the jagged edges of the glass, and cursed violently. Once I had regained my bearings, I stumbled to my feet and glanced through the shattered glass into the back of the car.

The man was gone.

I stared in bewilderment.

And then the Cadillac came roaring around the corner at full tilt. It smashed into the back of the limousine, shattering its front windshield and crumpling the sleek black hood. I ducked, rolling under the limo and crawling between the cars. When I reached the opposite side of the road, I got to my feet and ran, not waiting to see whether the Cadillac's driver and his trigger-happy sidekick had survived the crash in one piece.

I sprinted two blocks down the road and crossed a lane of moving traffic, narrowly evading a double decker bus and two Minis.

I was almost certain that I had lost my pursuers—but the fate of Loki's contact was still a pressing question in my mind. I decided that he must have vacated the limo sometime earlier in the chase, perhaps when I had slowed to turn a corner. Whatever had happened to him, there was nothing I could do about it now.

A black car turned the corner in front of me. Without thinking, I ducked into an alley out of sight. But as it purred by a few heart-pounding seconds later, I realized that it was just a BMW with a grouchy businessman at the wheel. I let out a deep breath. It wasn't Coulson.

There. I had admitted my horrible truth.

It was only a few short glimpses, which I had immediately denied, but there was no mistaking the badge affixed to the driver's chest. There was no mistaking the driver's _face_.

In all honesty, I hadn't been that surprised when Fury attempted to kill me. Our relationship had always been tense and strange: I had seen more than I liked of my own personality in that man. His death hadn't affected me at all. Not like some deaths...

But Coulson's attack shocked me to the core. Yes, he had been present at the Veeraswarmy when the Hulk had run rampant, and had been involved with my attempted termination afterwards, but... He wasn't a killer. Coulson was a sort of grandfather to me. My heart twisted even as I thought about it. Coulson had been very kind to all the misfit superheroes. And to me, even though I had no mutant gifts. He had always been the most understanding of my difficult past, second only to Barton. I had never expected us to someday side against each other. For him to… to shoot at me was almost unthinkable. How had he found me, anyway?

I stepped out of the alley and began to walk back to the river, head down.

Loki's random move had annoyed me, but Coulson's betrayal absolutely destroyed my soul. If Coulson, the happiest and most trustworthy person I knew, was out to get me, what was left?

Loki, maybe. I had suffered no physical harm from him, which was more than I could say for Coulson. My palms stung furiously from the cut glass, and blood soaked my elbow. If my sweatshirt hadn't been dark, I would have been arrested for sure. What kind of person walked around with bloodstains on their clothes?

My thoughts drifted back to Loki. I still didn't trust him. There was the whole taking over the world thing, of course, but he was just so reclusive. I knew almost nothing about him – not even if he was faking his fairly careless attitude towards me.

So if Loki wasn't a source of comfort or stability, who was?

Brita.

That stupid little angel.

I glanced up at the skyline through the drizzle and realized that I was closer to the Thames then I thought. The sky was growing dark, but I could make out the clock face on Big Ben only a few blocks away. It read 7:30. That meant I had been gone for almost two hours. When had so much time passed? I needed to get back to Brita.

Alternately sloshing through puddles in the road and hitching a ride on a bus, I reached the enormous building that Loki had selected as a temporary living quarters. The glass front was dark, and reflected every twinkling light in the surrounding city.

When I came around the back entrance, I took the stairs two at a time. The hallway above was well-lit but completely empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief. No SHIELD agents or British contacts were lurking in the shadows.

Sopping wet and grumpy, I headed toward the door to my flat. As soon as I stepped inside, I braced myself, fully expecting Brita to come flying into me.

Instead, my only welcome was silence.

I crept further into the room, careful to keep my footsteps soft on the carpet, and saw Brita sprawled across her trundle bed, curled up on top of the blankets like a napping cat. She had stolen the pillow off my bed, but for some reason I couldn't wipe the idiot smile off my face. She looked completely innocent.

I unthinkingly slipped my hands into my soaked sweatshirt—and my right hand touched something freezing cold and rock hard. Drawing in a hissing breath through clenched teeth, I stiffened, petrified. Then I remembered that I had tucked the medallion away in my sweatshirt.

Annoyed, I pinched it between the tips of my blood-smeared fingers, trying not to shiver from the sudden chill, and slowly pulled it out of my pocket. It was as stolid and black as before. Nothing seemed to have changed in appearance, but my fingers went slightly numb from the cold.

I glared at the smooth symbols that had been etched into its glossy surface, as if staring at them hard enough would force them to reveal their true meaning. It laughed silently at me, cold and unyielding. Frowning, I rubbed my thumb across the medallion. The icy sleekness of the stone raised goosebumps on my arm. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that this belonged to Loki. But it could simply be a treasure. A keepsake. An inconsequential trophy from one of Loki's previous escapades.

…But what if it wasn't?

I stopped rubbing the medallion, and again studied the intricate design embedded in its face. Should I return it to him? Or would he believe that _I _had stolen it, not Brita? The idea of facing an angry demigod was not, to say the least, very encouraging.

No. I would not give it back. Not now.

Feeling a surge of guilt, I stuffed it back in my pocket and folded my arms across my chest, staring out the window. The last thing I wanted was to be caught with the medallion in my hand before I knew exactly what it was, and Loki had a habit of showing up when it was most inconvenient for me.

If it was important to him, surely I would know about it soon enough. If the medallion was just a trinket, then what was the harm of keeping it?

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Lassie: Admittedly, this chapter is a little late. *ahem* ...a lot late. But we do have an excellent explanation! This month happened to be National Novel Writing month! It's also No Shave November, but we both lack the ability to grow a mustache. So Insanity decided to brave the Novel Writing, while I watched from the sidelines, drowning in a swamp of unfinished schoolwork. And now you have the full story on why we have been remiss on posting this latest chapter. We hope you enjoyed it!**

**Insanity: *is in a corner going insane from the realization that NaNoWriMo ends tomorrow... and she's only halfway done*  
**


	25. The Beginning of the End

Despite my fears, Loki did not appear to snatch away the medallion. I changed out of my bloody clothes and into sweats and a t-shirt. Minutes ticked by, and I began to pace, sometimes looking the massive windows, other times gazing at Brita's sleeping figure. She really did look like an angel – when she was quiet. Мой ангел. My angel.

Eventually, I collapsed on the couch and stared blankly at the black sky. Where could Loki be? Why did I care that he was gone? What could he be doing? Lately, his attention had shifted from me to... something else. Honestly, I did not mind the peace, but as another hour creaked past, I became unbearably bored. It wasn't as if I missed his stupid smirks, or his icy demeanor, or his nightmares...

I frowned.

And realized that I hadn't had one of his horrible dreams since Tonsberg.

My eyes began to close. Immediately, I forced them open, terrified of having another nightmare. But then I told myself to relax. Loki wasn't in our loft, and it had been almost two weeks since I had had one. There was nothing to fear. With one last glance at Brita, I allowed myself to fall into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

"Na! Na! Brita hungry!" Small feet pushed on my thighs and small fingers tugged on the sleeve of my t-shirt. I moaned and tried to ignore the little girl. Wasn't I too young to be a mother? "Na!"

"Brita..." I blinked my eyes open. The girl's strawberry-blonde hair tickled my face as she bent over me. I grabbed her and moved her to the other side of the couch, where she sat down with a giggle.

"Food?"

"Sure." I stiffly got to my feet, muffling a groan. What a way to be woken up... Although, it wasn't really the worst ever. Gun shots, Barton's terrified face, a mob of angry Canadians, and an explosion made the top of the list. Brita's adorable smile was hardly even bad.

I smiled back at the girl and asked, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Goldfish!" she said, bouncing on the couch cushion.

Loki didn't appear until almost nine o' clock, over two hours later. He didn't teleport into the loft, but rather knocked on the door, waited until I opened it, and pleasantly said, "Good morning, Natasha." Dark circles ringed his eyes and his shoulders slumped a little, but a devilish smile was plastered on his face. He was wearing an expensive suit with a red tie, his staff dangling from his fingers. Brita squealed and ducked behind the bed, peering over the top at him.

"Did you deliver the letter?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good." Loki cut me off before I could tell him about Coulson. "Prepare yourself and Brita to leave. You must wear the suit in your closet, but Brita may wear… whatever human children wear. I will return in twenty minutes. Is that suitable?" he added after a pause.

There was no doubt in my mind that we would be leaving in twenty minutes, whether it was suitable with me or not. But he was still being courteous, much to my surprise. I nodded in acquiescence.

"Very well. I will look forward to it." He turned and exited, leaving a faint chill in the air behind him.

Loki was in an extraordinarily good mood. That didn't really bode well for the rest of humanity.

It turned out that the "suit" Loki wanted me to wear was actually a black pencil skirt with a matching jacket and fashionably ruffled white blouse. After rifling around the bottom of the closet for a bit, I discovered a pair of matching pumps.

I spent the next fifteen minutes scurrying around, trying to get us both ready for whatever disaster Loki had planned. Was Brita really going to be involved with this? Whatever this was? I fervently hoped that she wouldn't be. Brita had already suffered enough.

I stripped the girl of her dingy yellow dress and helped her worm into a tiny pair of jeans, a pink flower-embellished long sleeved shirt, and a fuzzy pale green sweater. Then I brushed her hair and tied on her sneakers. Throughout the process, Brita remained quiet, lost in her own world.

"There," I declared, proud of myself. "You are dressed, mой ангел."

"What?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"My angel."

"Oh!" And then she said something that sounded like "minnie angley**.**" I assumed it was Norwegian.

I gave her a smile, not sure what to say, and walked back into the bathroom to brush my own hair. For a moment, I considered putting on makeup, then decided it wasn't worth the effort.

When Loki returned a minute later, I stood ready with Brita's hand clasped firmly in my own. He smiled cheerfully at us. "Take this, and we can be off." Loki handed me a leather purse – with an expensive Parisian label – and led the way downstairs onto the street.

London was cast in a dull blue light, with bursts of rotten orange from stubborn, dying leaves. Everyone hurried on their way paying no attention to us. They had no idea what Loki was about to do. I realized that we almost looked like a normal family – apart from our red, strawberry-blonde, and black hair. Brita skipped a few paces ahead while Loki walked by my side. After a block, I could not hold back my questions any longer. "Where are we going?"

"To Pimlico Nursery."

"Why do we need plants?" I asked, confused. "Do they sell man**-**eating daffodils?"

"Flowers?" Brita asked immediately.

Loki sighed. "No, Natasha. There," he said, pointing ahead. A bright sign caught my eye, all pastel colors and blocky shapes. "Pimlico Nursery". A young woman in an outfit even nicer than mine led her little boy through the open doors.

Oh. That kind of nursery.

I remained silent until we came to the doors. Brita peered through the glass, no doubt drawn by the bursts of laughter from within.

"Her name is Brita White, you are Elizabeth White. You will return around seven this evening for her. If anyone asks, you are a reporter for The Telegraph going to the Palace of Westminster for the House of Commons debate this morning. They will understand."

"Alright..."

"There is money in your purse, as well as any documentation they may require. I will await you in the store across the street."

Without waiting for any questions, Loki walked on up the street to a crosswalk. I shook my head, realizing that I was coming to accept his rather eccentric ways. "Let's go, Brita." Still holding her hand, I pushed open the glass door. A bell tingled. From behind a neutrally tiled desk, a brown haired young woman looked up.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a cheery voice.

"Um, yes. I'm dropping off Brita."

"Last name?" The secretary began to peck at her keyboard.

"White."

"Your name?"

"Na- lizabeth."

"Excuse me?"

Improvising quickly, I said, "No, Brita! Stay here. My name is Elizabeth." My little girl, who had been pulling away, stopped and frowned up at me. "Sorry," I added belatedly.

"It's fine! Same last name?"

I nodded.

"Great. And when will you return, Mrs. White?"

I blanched at the thought of being a "mrs" but didn't say anything. "Around seven."

The secretary leaned a bit closer to her screen, saying "Hm hm... Got it." She punched a final key triumphantly. "Forty-seven pounds, three pence, Mrs. White."

I fumbled with the inside of my bag, mind reeling. Forty-seven pounds? That was over seventy American dollars! Leather brushed my fingers, and I pulled out a wallet. Inside was nothing more than fake reporter credentials shoved into a credit card slot and about a hundred pounds in cash. I pulled out the correct amount and handed it to the secretary.

"Na?" Brita asked.

My breath caught, but the secretary didn't seem to notice. "What is it?"

"Can I go play?" She pointed toward one of the playrooms, and for the first time I let myself absorb the full picture.  
Opaque glass walls couldn't completely hide the vibrant colors of the room beyond, nor the running shapes of several children about Brita's age.

"Go ahead, dear," the woman said before I could respond. She got up and wobbled over to the door on ridiculously high heels. Laughter spilled from the room beyond, along with the faint strains of a recorder being played horribly. Brita pulled free of my hand and ran towards the other children like she had just been invited into heaven. Relieved and worried at the same time, I watched her strawberry-blonde head bounce away.

The door closed softly behind her.

"Well, we'll see you this evening, Mrs. White."

"Yeah, hopefully," I said, distracted. If the secretary did give me an odd look for that statement, I didn't see it. Quickly crossing the street, I walked into the store Loki had gone into. What I hadn't noticed before was that it was a clothing store. I grinned at the sight of Loki standing awkwardly by a rack, slowly pushing dresses to the side and watching a woman perusing the clothes a few feet away out of the corner of his eye.

I walked to his side, struggling to hide my smile before he noticed me. That plan failed spectacularly: when he looked up, I laughed out loud at his utterly confused face.

"Do you find this-" he waved a hand, brushing the dresses, "amusing?"

"What, shopping?"

Loki nodded.

"Well, not very often. But occasionally."

The demigod fingered the sleeve of a wool dress, staring at it with eyebrows drawn together. "Will Brita be well cared for?"

"I don't know, you found that place. I assume so. It looked nice."

"Then we may continue." We walked outside and turned left, heading in the direction of Big Ben again.

"Am I really going to help you take over Britain in a skirt and pumps?" I asked after a minute.

"Are you?" Loki's face, which had returned briefly to its normal mask, once more twisted in confusion. "How did you know-"

"You looked extremely happy when you came to get us."

Loki inclined his head to me. "That is true. For this occasion, I will be wearing this suit. You will be wearing that outfit." He smiled. "Do you think this is suitable?" Loki spread his arms. But instead of finding some sort of compliment for the demigod, I found myself staring at his lean muscles as they flexed underneath the black cloth.

The minute I looked back at his face, it was creased into a broad grin. I was sure he suspected what I was thinking, but I knew better than to give him the pleasure of knowing he had guessed correctly. Shifting my gaze to a crosswalk, I nodded. "You look…"

_Blast it. _

"…like a king."

When I risked a glance back at his face, his smirk had disappeared entirely. He opened his mouth to reply, and had I not been paying rapt attention at that moment, I would have missed the slight hesitation before he spoke. "Thank you, Natasha," he said swiftly, brushing past me and stepping out into the street. He extended his arm, and I took it, though I was careful to keep my gaze from wandering again.

For several minutes we walked in silence. When I realized that we were actually going into the Palace of Westminster, I wished I had put on make up. Something big was going to happen. And I got the distinct feeling that it had to do with the Prime Minister's meth addiction.

I had never actually been inside Westminster, and the grandeur was surprisingly breathtaking. High ceilings criss-crossed with ancient wooden beams, massive stained glass windows, and mobs of anxious men and women greeted us. Loki ignored it all, weaving expertly through the crowd. I wanted to stand for a minute and just look at my amazing surroundings, but Loki latched his fingers around my wrist when I slowed.

Shortly, we entered the back of the House of Commons chamber. Several men nodded to Loki as he seated himself in a corner, underneath the public balcony.

I searched the many members of parliament for Loki's contact, but it was hard to tell them apart when I was looking at the backs of their heads… Within five minutes of our arrival, they were all seated and talking quietly amongst themselves. Tension filled the room like cotton, muffling all noises and making it hard to breathe.

What was Loki going to do? How was he going to take over Great Britain? Why did he have me deliver a letter? Why did he look so tired?

A gavel was pounded twice, loudly. "This meeting will now come to order. The Prime Minister was unable to attend this session of parliament, so I shall open our meeting with the traditional prayer."

Everyone focused on a prune-faced man with thin grey hair and thick-rimmed glasses perched on his rather short nose. The Leader of the House of Commons – his name plate read Damian Walpole – dipped his head and began to speak in a sonorous voice. I didn't really pay much attention to the prayer, scanning the bowed heads of the room for anyone I recognized. After about a minute, I had recognized no one, and Mr. Walpole had ended his prayer.

There was a long pause while Mr. Walpole stared down at his hands, as if unwilling to continue the meeting. "Normally, we would now commence question time with the Prime Minister. But, as he is not here..." Every head in the room swiveled to a plush chair beside Mr. Walpole. "We will proceed into our next matter of business – urgent questions."

Loki looked to our left and met eyes with somebody. They nodded to each other, and then the other man rose to his feet. "I have once such question, Mr. Walpole."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

"Yes, Mr. McCarthy?"

"Why is the Prime Minister absent?"

Loki got to his feet, rising so smoothly and elegantly. "Mr. Walpole, I request permission to answer Mr. McCarthy's question."

Mr. Walpole hesitated. "Very well."

Loki walked gracefully down the green velvet stairs and began to pace the front of the room. Slowly. Methodically. Hypnotically. "The Prime Minister is otherwise engaged at the present time. He sends his regrets."

The second question was more of a demand. "Where is he, then?"

Loki's eyebrows rose, nearly touching in the middle, and his mouth turned down at the corners. This gave him a sympathetic, almost compassionate expression. "Your concern is understandable, but he prefers his whereabouts to remain unknown." Then Loki said, with theatrical flair, "Due to unfortunate circumstances, it is unlikely that he will be able to resume his duties as Minister in the foreseeable future."

A horrified intake of breath brought an awed silence over the entire assembly. Then the questions began in earnest. The gavel was pounded once again, but the sea of voices only swelled.

"Enough."

The order was calm and deep, resonating through the room. A hush gradually descended upon the parliament once again, as if Loki's voice had renewed the spell of silence.

Then one of the members rose. "We cannot allow the office of prime minister to remain vacant. Mr. Laufeyson, if you could give us an exact date—"

"There is no exact date," Loki apologized. "Sometime next year, perhaps, if the rehabilitation is successful."

A pale Mr. Walpole hid his face from the general assembly.

"Rehabilitation?" cried more than one member of parliament.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I demand to know exactly what is going on."

"I move that we adjourn and reconvene when details can be—"

"—the prime minister must be present unless—"

Then the wheezing voice of Mr. Walpole rose above the tumult: "This is a time for questions, not an official meeting of parliament!"

Somebody else stood as well and declared, "I move that we declare this an emergency meeting." I noticed that his eyes were blank, staring without seeing at Mr. Walpole.

Another parliament member rose. "I second the motion."

The chairman sighed heavily. "All in favor… of declaring this an emergency meeting… raise your right hands and say 'Aye.' All opposed, say 'nay.'"

A loud chorus of "aye"s filled the cavernous room.

A dour frown crossed Mr. Walpole's face, adding still more unfavorable creases to his already wrinkled face, but he pronounced, in his high, quavering tenor, "The motion is carried."

Loki turned to face the chairman and said quietly, "I request the floor to inform my fellow men of the grave circumstances of our situation."

"You have the floor."

Loki turned to face the entire assembly, and then resumed his methodical pacing. "I am not sworn to silence, and I see now that it would be best to share what I know with you, venerable members of the parliament…"

And so, for perhaps a little over an hour, though it seemed days on end, Loki spoke to parliament, weaving a spell with his words and his tone. First warm, then chilling; distant, then confidential. He drew them into a fantastic narration, beginning with the Prime Minister's tragic addiction and wandering gracefully into the enormous potential and bravery of the British people. He referenced several historical events that were indeed ancient, but nonetheless poignant, and ended with a glorious tale of what Great Britain _could become_, with perseverance… and the right leader. His voice was thrilling, and his actions beautiful—he told the story with his entire body—gesturing, smiling, pacing to and fro—and the inflection of his voice carried his audience to unprecedented heights of excitement.

Throughout his narration, Loki never broke eye contact with the spellbound congregation, and when he was finished, a collective sigh rippled across the room. I realized only then that I had been holding my breath as well, and let it out hastily, gasping. I felt as if I had been held underwater, and just now been allowed to come up for air. Ecstasy shivered through my entire body. I clutched the chair in front of me and blinked, trying to overcome an unreasonable urge to run down the aisle-way and fly into his arms. What a childish thought!

Thankfully, no one else appeared to be quite so violently affected by his speech.

"And now," Loki intoned, "we come to a decision. On one hand is the potential for a well-executed solution. On the other, political upheaval. If a suitable replacement is not found, Great Britain will be scandalized by this whole unfortunate affair. I spoke with Her Majesty several days ago, and she agreed that this situation is most unwelcome and must be dealt with urgently. Therefore, respected parliament, I move that we make a vote of no confidence in the Prime Minister."

Dead silence met his proclamation.

Mr. Walpole gave Loki a basset-hound frown. "You realize, Mr. Laufeyson, that such actions are not in accordance with current parliamentary procedure," he droned. "Such a thing has not been necessary in over a hundred years."

Loki reached beneath his jacket and withdrew an envelope, placing it on the desk in front of the chairman. "I do realize this. That is why I have taken the time to request permission from the queen herself. Therein, you will find her sanction for such measures to be taken."

Mr. Walpole slowly opened the envelope and withdrew the papers within, balancing his glasses on the very edge of his pig nose. "I see. Very well then, Mr. Laufeyson." Looking deeply upset, he called for the members of parliament to vote the minister out of office. Not one person voted for the poor man to stay.

I heard gasps, key clacking, and excited murmurs from the public seats above. Mr. Walpole's face paled even further as the news traveled in an instant around the globe.

"In order to assure the stability of this great country, we must immediately select a new, honorable man to lead," Loki continued, his expression inscrutable. "I move to vote at the present time."

It was instantly seconded by a blank-eyed woman.

Mr. Walpole, now a nasty pinkish-white color, muttered, "This is moving too fast."

"These men have decided, sir," Loki said a little sharply.

Mr. Walpole winced. "Very well..."

As the chairman had not actually protested beyond making rather horrible faces, I did not feel much sympathy for him. If he didn't like what was going on, he should fight to change it.

_Oh no... I'm supporting Loki's takeover of Great Britain. What have I come to?_

Loki, smiling just a touch, faced the men and women again. "You may nominate no more than one man from this honored body."

The first man in the left row stood. "Loki Laufeyson," he said stiffly, sitting back down.

"Except for me," Loki corrected him gently. "I am afraid that my political knowledge is not sufficient to govern this great country."

There were murmurs of discontent.

I smiled wryly, impressed by his subtle manipulation of the politicians. He looked wholly comfortable with the situation. It was obvious that he had indeed dwelt among nobility for the majority of his life. Being revered was nothing new to the demigod.

"In my humble opinion," Loki said, "I would vote for Mr. Jeremy Quinn."

Behind the first man who had spoken, a lantern-jawed, white-haired man cleared his throat nervously. "Me, sir?"

I recognized him immediately, and half-stood, gaping soundlessly for a moment—he was the man from the limousine! Then I closed my mouth and thumped back down into my chair, resolved to wait until the session was at a close before I bombarded the demigod with questions.

"Of course," Loki said smoothly, bowing a little. "There is no worthier man."

_Wow. That demigod is smooth as silk..._

"Jeremy Quinn!" somebody cried, standing up. Mr. Quinn turned a darker shade of red, which made his unearthly pale eyes stand out.

A second man stood. "Jeremy Quinn," he echoed.

"Jeremy Quinn."

"Jeremy Quinn."

"Jeremy Quinn."

I shook my head, disbelieving. Loki had wrapped all of parliament around his finger. He caught my eye briefly, and I saw that little self-satisfied smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth. I smiled tightly back.

A minute later, all the votes were cast.

…All of them were for Loki's chosen pawn.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Happy Holidays!**

**Again, we're sorry for the delay. Thank you for your support!**


	26. Holiday

Half an hour later, I found myself walking briskly down the street, Loki on my left and Brita right between us. She clutched my hand, skipping gaily and humming a little nonsensical tune.

I wanted to despise Loki for his actions, but I couldn't – I just couldn't. Not only had he done it with such subtle, careful moves that it was impossible to track them all, but as soon as we were out of Westminster hall, he changed. His careful masks fell away, revealing a boyish, ecstatic joy. Loki was innocently proud of his work, overjoyed with his success. The usually austere demigod now seemed like a young child on Christmas morning. How could I hate him when every movement, every word, was full of pure joy and happiness?

"What do you want, Natasha? You can have anything—everything."

"I didn't help much, did I?" I decided, raising an eyebrow.

"You delivered the news to Mr. Quinn that he would become Prime Minister this morning. I believe you also saved his life afterwards." I frowned, considering his words. I didn't remember telling him about Coulson...

"And here's a delightful reward for the both of us," Loki said suddenly. "We're going to go on a holiday." Loki wasn't finished, but I was already starting to stammer in surprise.

_Holiday? As in, a road trip? A vacation? Do they do that sort of thing in Asgard?_

"Afterwards, when your Midgard has settled down, we will begin moving the pieces of America's chessboard. I have already prepared for the game, and my pawns await my command. But now we will go west, Natasha, to see the greatness of my new country."

His grin was so radiant that Brita smiled back at him and reached up to grab his hand as well as mine. To my utter surprise—considering his reaction to her childish antics the prior morning—his smile never faltered, and we continued down the road in this way for some time. When we reached the flat, Loki told me that I should change into something a bit warmer, and also that I should pack whatever I thought I might need. Then he vanished. Typical.

It was unclear from his words whether we were leaving permanently or actually coming back someday in the future, but I changed into soft leather boots, blue jeans, and a knitted turtleneck that I decided, after looking in the mirror, was very flattering. After throwing on a coat I had found in the back of the closet, I stuffed as much as I could into the leather suitcase.

"Here we go again," I murmured, remembering all the pleasant places I'd had to leave behind in the last month.

"Where?" Brita's sing-song voice and familiar soft hand pulled me back to reality. "Where, Na?"

"Wherever Loki tells us to go," I announced, perhaps a bit unkindly, as I helped her into a little jacket.

"Oh, I'm sure you will find our new accommodations every bit as welcoming as your beloved forest house." I pressed my lips tightly together to keep from lashing out at the demigod, and turned around stiffly, my suitcase at my side. Loki was standing right where he had been ten minutes earlier, and although his infectious smile was gone, I still detected a tinge of laughter in his dark eyes.

"I hope so," I said hotly.

"You need not hope, Natasha," he assured me, taking my hand. "You will find everything perfectly suitable."

I attempted to glare at him, but our surroundings were whisked away in a breathe of freezing wind, cutting off my look. We materialized in the back corner of a loud, but tiny, shop.

"Uhh..." Loki, now dressed in a green button-down shirt and expensive jeans, kept hold of my hand as he wound through the crowd and out into a large airport. I glanced over my shoulder at the store we had exited, noting the racks of books, magazines, and newspapers.

"We're flying?" I asked.

"I'm borrowing Stark's private jet again," Loki said with an impish grin. "The inventor landed here in Heathrow not fifteen minutes ago. He is out in London now, hunting for us."

Brita tugged a little on my hand as I stared at Loki. The gall...

"This way!" the demigod said, setting off through the glass-walled airport. Shaking my head, I trailed after him. After a minute, Loki pulled an iPhone out of his pocket and called several people, but I couldn't hear his words over the general roar of thousands of people.

The small jet was at a relatively empty end of Heathrow through two sets of guarded doors. Not one of the men blinked as we walked up. Loki just opened the door and continued on until we reached the tarmac.

"Are you sure he's gone?" I demanded, hopping a step to keep up with Loki. Brita mimicked me, and proceeded to hop like a bunny the rest of the way to the stairs.

"Quite," Loki assured me, taking the steps two at a time. I followed close behind, making sure Brita didn't trip on the way up.

"And isn't it very stupid to take his jet, _again_?"

"Probably," he replied cheerfully. A suited woman opened the door for us and followed us in, shutting the door and locking it.

We sat down in our seats with Brita between us, happily humming and flipping through a picture book. Where had that come from? As the plane rolled backwards, away from the main building, I couldn't help glancing over at Loki. He was so calm, so confident, despite his stupid plan. Tony would be beyond furious when he discovered that we had taken his jet. Again.

"How do you do it?" I finally asked.

He met my eyes, a contented smirk on his face. "Do what?"

"You know exactly what I mean," I accused.

Loki sighed pleasantly and leaned back in his comfortable leather seat. "Your Director Fury's little group of 'heroes' are predictable to the point of being laughable," he informed me cheerfully. "The Captain of America is never without an entourage of SHIELD agents, a monster like Banner is ridiculously hard to hide – even in his more agreeable form – and Tony Stark's ego usually precedes him. The man is incapable of being discreet. No, Natasha, it is not at all hard to locate them, if desired, or avoid them, which is preferred. They're about as stealthy as a herd of bilge snipe."

Bilge snipe? I hid a wryly amused smile from him. It quickly became a frown as I thought about the Avengers... or what was left of them. Where was Cap now? And what had happened to Banner?

I finally pushed those annoying thoughts aside: I would find out eventually, I told myself. Settling back in my seat, I closed my eyes and almost let myself relax—before a sudden thought popped into my head.

"Loki."

"Yes, Natasha?" His voice was warm and mellow, and still sounded remotely happy. I hoped my question wouldn't change that: his current frame of mind made him much less frightening than usual.

_Yes, I still fear him,_ I realized with some discomfort. Did I still hate him? I wasn't sure.

I clasped my hands together and refused to open my eyes. "Did you... is my third power... gone?"

A momentary pause made me flinch.

"Gone?" he repeated. A hint of confusion colored his voice, and I heard him shift slightly beside me.

"My—your—my nightmares," I said uncertainly.

The silence that followed was so cold that I had to fight back a shiver. "I don't—uh—I don't have them anymore," I explained, swallowing nervously. "I was hoping—I was _wondering _if maybe you had—taken them away."

I stopped talking and held my breath, realizing how stiff I was. I tried to relax, but found it impossible to so much as loosen one muscle. Even my eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The worst thing in the world that could happen to me would be to have another one of those horrible dreams.

Then a less frosty voice broke the silence: "Your powers cannot be removed."

I cracked an eye open, glancing surreptitiously at Loki. He was not looking at me. Both eyes were wide, but staring blankly into space, and his slender hands rested on his knees.

"They can't?" I ventured, blinking and turning to look at him directly. I was sure my heart was visibly throbbing under my jacket.

"No," he murmured. "Your power was to face your past, not have nightmares. Those memories were merely a tool."

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to stifle a surge of anger. "Well, it didn't work," I grumbled. "And what business is it of yours whether I face my past or not? I don't understand how that can be a power, or a gift, or even a curse. It's voluntary," I asserted.

"Is it?" Loki hissed quietly, finally turning to look at me. His eyes latched onto mine, and I froze, feeling cornered. "_Is it_ a choice, Natasha?"

I pulled away, but he reached out and snagged my wrist. The freezing coldness of his bare skin seared my arm, but I clenched my teeth and glared up at him, feeling a surge of panic. "Believe me when I tell you that changing someone's identity is beyond even your capabilities."

"Oh, but I have, haven't I?" Loki leaned down, his breath cold on my face—but he was smiling again. This time it was a smug, self-satisfied smirk that was both nauseating and obscenely attractive.

"...Have you?" I found myself whispering, slightly overwhelmed by his closeness. The scent of whatever cologne he was wearing was enough to make my spine tingle, and I noticed for the first time that there was a sapphire ring around both of his pupils. It melted into the jade of his irises, and I wasn't sure where the blue tinge stopped and the green began.

"I guided you back to the light, did I not?" He moved just a little bit closer, still holding my wrist. "You have come to realize your full potential, just as I had hoped."

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but found that all words left my mind. The silver tongue which had so efficiently swayed parliament earlier in the day now held me in a similar trance.

"If indeed your phantasmagorical memories have ceased, then your past no longer hinders you as it once did. You should be grateful, Natasha, for my intervention."

I fought against the influence of his voice, pulling away weakly. "I still know enough not to fall for your stupid mind-games," I mumbled, only half-believing it as I said it. "And I don't need your help. Not now... or ever."

Turbulence suddenly rocked the jet, and reality hit me like a winter wind. Shaken out of my daze, I yanked my wrist away from Loki and leaned away. "I was at peace with my past—before you came and took my future away from me," I snarled.

"And what future did you have, Natasha? What hope was there for you—betrayed, abandoned, used by SHIELD, a slave to your own memories?" Loki's voice had suddenly sharpened, and I shrank away.

"I was at peace," I repeated firmly, struggling to believe myself.

"Then explain to me why, when I found you, you were still a tortured, desperate soul?" His pupils flared slightly, giving him a cat-like appearance. "Still floundering for purpose. Still running from your shame."

"At least I didn't try to bury my past in another bloodbath! You're the one who killed all those innocent people—"

"It was their own foolishness—"

"—_your _own cruelty—"

"—that sent them to their graves."

"And the prime minister—"

"The prime minister was unfit to lead his country."

"And you think you can do a better job?"

"By rights, Midgard should be ruled by one king, as the other worlds have been for centuries. Not these scattered, squabbling diplomats who cannot even think beyond their own selfish ambitions."

"Better them than you!"

A loud wail brought our spat to a jarring halt, and we turned as one to look across the aisle. Brita had crawled between two of the seats and clamped her tiny hands over her ears. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, and her big blue eyes were taking in our whole shouting match.

I stared helplessly. Now what did I do? The girl continued to sob, although her heart-wrenching wails stopped. Loki stood up and moved to the back of the plane – as far away from Brita as possible – and began to read a novel he conjured out of thin air.

I got up and walked toward Brita, but a flight attendant rushed to my side. "Sit down please, Miss. We're landing."

"Oh. Erm, alright." Truthfully, I was glad for the excuse to leave Brita alone. Screaming children were not my specialty. Slowly, I sank back down into my seat and stared resolutely at the flight information in the plastic pouch in front of me. Brita continued to cry furiously. Why was she so affected by our argument? Sure, she trusted me, but Loki still seemed to be an enemy in her eyes.

Was Loki _my_ enemy?

Before SHIELD, before Barton, I would have answered yes. Before all this, I would have answered yes. He was a madman trying to conquer the world. Even a rogue assassin had to fight against that, right? But as I thought about it, my mind whispered a quiet _no_. He wasn't killing people anymore. I wasn't killing people anymore. Well, in theory. It was just theory for both of us, really. Loki wasn't murdering dozens of people – just Brita's mother that I had seen. Who had I killed since the bad days? When I had served as a distraction during our second trip to London, certainly. And a few agents in SHIELD when I had gone on my self-appointed mission to rescue a demigod.

In that way, at least, we were similar.

The plane landed quickly and smoothly. As soon as the wheels touched down with a squeal, Loki stood up and walked up to the front of the plane. I watched him walk – watched his precise movements under his expensive suit. After spending so much time with him, it was easy to see that he was not human. Loki was demigod who had lived for thousands of years. I had killed, sure, but he had survived countless battles, countless family quarrels, only to fall into his brother's shadow. Thor had mentioned that Loki had fought at his side for almost every battle the future king had been in. Didn't that make them equal? Was Loki's resentment justified?

But still, taking over planet earth... I might be able to justify his _past_ with twisted logic and perhaps a bit of sympathy, but I could never justify _that._

Although... The former prime minister had been a meth addict. Maybe he had done Great Britain a favor. Or maybe not. America was waiting for Loki's next move, so only time could tell.

The cabin door opened, letting in a flood of red light. A rather plump, matronly woman rushed up the steps and into the plane. "Mr. Laufeyson?" she asked briskly, facing Loki. Her eyes skimmed over to me and latched onto Brita's curled up body. "Is that the child?"

"Yes."

"And there has been no changes to the schedule that was sent to me?"

"In the last twenty minutes? I think not," Loki said coldly.

The woman was unaffected. "Very well then." She swept past the demigod and bundled Brita into her arms. "Hush, hush, child. Nanny's here now." Brita's cries immediately stopped and she stared at the new woman with wide eyes. "Let's go get an ice cream, alright?"

"Ice cream? Brita likes ice cream!" the little girl assured her, patting the woman's hand.

The nanny laughed and carried her off the plane without a look at us. I watched them go, mouth hanging open to protest, but nothing came out.

"There," Loki said, sounding immensely satisfied. "We will have a few days of peace."

I looked over at him suspiciously. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going on holiday."

"Where are we?"

"Southampton."

"What?" I stood up, extremely puzzled. "That's only an hour and a half away from London..."

"Or a ten minute flight," Loki said, nodding. "Surely you noticed we were not long in the air?"

I frowned at him. "Of course I noticed. But I'm still confused."

"As usual," Loki said cheekily. Before I could reply, he had vanished down the stairs. Annoyed and frustrated, I followed him down, trying to think of any local landmarks Loki would find appealing. Nothing came to mind.

Loki strode across the tarmac to a white Mini-Cooper. I could see a few suitcases in the back. "Oh no. Are we actually driving _that_?"

"I find it rather charming, don't you?" Loki asked, looking faintly surprised.

"Eh." I eyed the tiny car. "Depends on how far we're driving."

"About an hour."

"Then it's horrible."

"Get in, Natasha." Loki opened the passenger door for me.

I crossed my arms, standing about thirty feet away. "Can't we just teleport or whatever?"

"No."

"Why not?" I challenged.

"Because we have to blend in until all the excitement dies down. I will be unable to cloud people's memory, as the Avengers will be looking into any report of the strange. _Teleporting _there, as you call it, would also attract attention, because there is no empty or crowded area to teleport into." He paused. "And I just took over all of Britain, so I'm quite tired."

I blinked. "Um, alright." Reluctantly, I slid into the Mini and fastened my seatbelt. Loki got in the other side and within five minutes, we were heading north on the M3 at a frightening pace. I clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles were white. "You drive even worse than Barton!" I shouted over the engine noise.

Loki grinned at me. "Thank you. I have been practicing."

"When?" I demanded.

"Oh, day before last. I drove for the first time in this very car."

"This is only the second time you've driven?" I cried. He swerved, almost hitting a truck, then sped up until we hit over eighty miles an hour. "Pull over!" I shouted. "Pull over now!" He glanced at me, making the car swerve again. "NOW!" I screamed.

He pulled over onto the shoulder.

"Get out," I ordered.

He got out.

I ran over to the driver's side and sat down before he could change his mind, glaring at him. "_I_ will drive."

"You don't know where we're going," he pointed out.

"Give me directions then." I flicked on the blinker and merged onto the freeway again. "We're going to get to wherever it is safely. I refuse to be killed in an insane accident because you drive like an idiot."

Loki shrugged infuriatingly. "I suppose this would be less obvious."

"Slightly," I ground out sarcastically. "Tell me if I need to get off."

He nodded and reached for the stereo. The classical music station immediately blasted out of it and played nonstop for the next forty-five minutes. I did my best to ignore it, concentrating on the road, but the strains of Bach and Vivaldi flooded my mind. I found myself tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a cheerier number. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Loki smile.

A few minutes later, Loki told me to get off at the next exit. A mile later, a sign caught my attention. "Stonehenge? Are we seriously going to Stonehenge?"

"Not tonight, Natasha. In the morning."

I sighed and pulled of the freeway. "Why Stonehenge?"

"It is a lovely place that I have not visited in centuries."

"Oh, only a few hundred years," I said, shooting him a look.

He smirked. "Turn left."

The rest of the ride was quiet save for Loki's instructions. We drove out of the more populated areas into the rolling green hills England was famous for. Occasionally, huge mansions appeared in the distance. At a large, elegant iron-wrought sign, Loki gestured for me to stop. "This is it."

"The Lainston House?"

"Yes."

I paused, staring at the huge, elaborate gates before slowly rolling the Mini through them and onto the smoothly paved road. A full minute of driving past before the mansion hotel came into sight. Backed by both woods and a spectacular sunset, the Lainston House glowed cheerily. It was like stepping back into the 18th century, except for the expensive cars parked out front. And the tennis court. But the nearby stables certainly matched the vine covered stone walls of the mansion.

"It's gorgeous!"

"I thought so," Loki said smugly.

Two suited men met us at the main entrance and opened our doors. One grabbed out luggage while the other one took the keys and drove off. "This way, if you please Mr. Laufeyson, Miss. Romanoff." He bowed to us in turn, held the massive double doors open, and followed us inside. In a whirlwind of pomp and circumstance, we were settled into separate rooms.

I didn't know about Loki's room, but mine was covered in lush gold and red decorations. Every square inch felt rich and modern, although heavily influenced by the lovely old building. I fell back onto the king-sized bed. No Brita demanding something. No Loki – for the moment. I was alone in a wonderful room with nothing to do but...

Sleep.

I sprawled luxuriously across the bed, taking up every inch of the plush comforter, and within minutes I had fallen asleep in my clothes.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Happy New Year's everyone!**

**Insanity- Great news! Lassie just uploaded her own story, called How To Live With a Demigod 101. It's hilarious, cute, and definitely worth a read! Check it out!  
**


	27. Stonehenge

_The thunderous rush of cascading water filled Loki's ears. Droplets hung in the air around him, each one reflecting the red glow of the sunset. How noble, how fair, how majestic were the falls... Yet their beauty was dim in the light of the one who stood before him._

_Her golden hair hung in damp ringlets around her heart-shaped face, bringing out her pearl-white skin and two haunting blue eyes, dark as sapphires yet bright as the stars. Eyes full of intelligence, of love._

_Such elegance. _

_Entranced, Loki reached out to touch her, smoothing back a blonde curl blown out of place by their ride. He let his hand drop to cup the smooth line of her jaw. Her perfect lips curved upwards into the fleeting hint of a smile. A cold, cold smile._

"_Sigyn," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her gently on the mouth. She was beautiful despite her resistance to him. The tantalizing taste of summer rains and evening breezes clung to her lips. When he pulled away, he noticed the tear that lay glistening on her cheek. "Sigyn," he whispered again, wiping it away only to watch another take its place. "Sigyn..."_

_Just to say her name—what ecstasy! She was his. His alone, but for a price... such a price. The terrible burden of guilt would not leave his heart._

_It was the first time Loki had ever taken a life in cold blood, and it still tore at his conscience. The allure of a wife such as Sigyn had been too much for him to bear, and the death of her lover all too easy to arrange. The forced marriage also weighed heavily on his heart, but that was easier to justify: Theoric had been shallow, callous and cold. Sigyn, as innocent and trusting as she was, could not have seen past his handsome face and charming façade. Such a thing had happened before, and it would happen again._

_Loki was proud to have saved her from a terrible life with – no, under – Theoric._

_Yet not Odin, nor Thor, nor Sigyn had seen it that way. None of them knew he had killed Theoric – if they had, Loki would have been condemned to death – but they were all aware that he had deceived both Sigyn and Odin when he had taken on the guise of Sigyn's lover, usurping his place at the wedding. A woman was allowed to choose her own mate, and Loki had shattered that assurance into fragments and scattered them to the winds._

_In Loki's eyes, he was protecting her from a wolf._

_In Sigyn's, he had betrayed her in the worst way possible._

_She never spoke his name, calling him 'Master' and his hated but well-deserved title of 'Trickster.' Her love only met that of duty, but never surpassed it. During the night, she would sit up at the window, crowned in a halo of moonlight, bathed in soft starlight, and weep in silence._

_And it all tormented Loki. _

"_Sigyn," he said again, brushing the tears from her face. "Do you love me?"_

_Ten thousand times he had asked her that hollow question, and ten thousand times she had given her numb reply: "Yes, Master."_

_Tonight, she said nothing. Drops of mist bejeweled her hair like a diamond veil, and her soft blue evening gown hugged her shapely form._

_Breathtaking. Infatuating._

_Loki waited for a response, but when none seemed forthcoming, he kissed her tenderly on the brow and turned away, feeling his heart squeeze in agony._

_Then a gentle touch on his wrist, cool and smooth. He hesitated for a moment, and then turned to look over his shoulder. Sigyn stared back at him with her piercing gaze—but the haunted look had left her sparkling eyes. She slid her hand into his, and subtly interlocked their fingers. _

_There was no smile on her face, but neither was there a frown. _

_Loki stared back at her, lost in that ethereal gaze._

"_Sigyn?" he whispered her name—her precious, precious name—one more time. "Do you love me?"_

_With movements ever so slow and hesitant, Sigyn grasped his other hand and drew near to him, until she was pressed so close that he could feel her heart beating in time with his._

"_Yes..." Sigyn laid her head upon his chest. "...Loki."_

* * *

When I came to my senses the next morning, the sweet embrace of a plush, velvety blanket was the first thing I noticed. Then the downy pillow that caressed my face. And then the crackling of a fire...

Fire!

Suddenly panicked, I bolted upright and struggled out from under the blankets, accidentally knocking several decorative pillows to the floor and hitting my knuckles on the headboard. By the time I realized that the fire was safely contained in a fireplace, I was much too awake to go back to sleep, no matter how tantalizing the soft bed sheets were. It was almost 9 anyways – quite the lazy morning for me.

I glanced at the fire—which, instead of looking cheerful and bright, somehow seemed somber and pensive—and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Rising to my feet and shivering in the cold, I stole across the fluffy rug to stand by the mantelpiece. Warmth seeped through my rumpled clothes and I glanced down, realizing that I hadn't even changed out of my skirt and blouse from yesterday.

I let myself smile quietly: knowing Loki, I would find the closets well-stocked. Sure enough, when I opened the doors, I found a generous supply of elegant, _breathtaking _dresses. I reached out to feel the material of an ink-black evening gown, and nearly gasped at the satiny smoothness. It felt flawless and perfect beneath my fingertips, and I impulsively rubbed it against my cheek. This would be perfect... but I let the hem slip from my grasp with some regret. I had found nothing simple, plain and wearable. Everything was expensive and crafted to glorify the beauty of the bearer. Obviously Loki wanted me to play the part of—

A hot blush covered my face.

—well, the part of his consort, I supposed. Or at the very least, a ravishing, distinguished partner in crime.

After searching through the dresses for some time, I noticed a suitcase shoved in the back corner of the closet. Curious, I pulled it out into the light. A wonderful sight greeted me inside: simple shirts, nice jeans, scarves, warm jackets. With I sigh of relief, I began to sort through the new clothes. Quickly, I pulled out a black-and-white striped shirt and skinny jeans. If we were really on vacation, I wanted to be comfortable, and those would be much more practical than a dress.

I laid it all out on the bed and began to undress, but when I went to remove my skirt, something hard and black fell out of the pocket and landed on the floor with a soft thump.

I stared at the carved insignia, and then bent down to pick it up, recognizing it as Loki's trinket. As soon as my fingers touched the stone, however, a rush of memories flooded through my mind.

The dream I had just experienced suddenly became clear again, and I remembered everything as if I was reliving it.

_Sigyn._

Taking a deep breath, I ran my thumb across the carvings and closed my eyes, feeling faint and dizzy. I wasn't Loki! That much, at least, I still knew... So why I had dreamed that I was?

Could it be the medallion? Cracking an eye open, I stared at the inanimate disk lying in my palm. It was possible, wasn't it?

Firming my chin, I set the stone on the bed and slipped out of the skirt and blouse, reaching for the casual clothes. Further search revealed a khaki jacket that seemed to match, as well as a turquoise infinity scarf. There was such a selection of boots in the bottom of the closet that it took me nearly five minutes (about five minutes longer than usual) to decide which ones looked best.

When I went into the adjoining bathroom, I found my hair to be an awful mess. Fortunately, there were brushes and curling irons and all manner of grooming tools in the drawers, and I found an entire cabinet of makeup.

_For being a man... or a demigod... he certainly knows women like the back of his hand_, I decided.

Sigyn's face again came to the forefront of my thoughts, but I shoved the memory away, annoyed.

About half an hour later, I decided that I looked presentable enough. I didn't need a shower – I hadn't had much reason to sweat as of yesterday, and my hair was relatively clean.

When I reentered the bedroom, a glint caught my eye, returning my attention to the smooth, flat stone that was still lying on the bed. Grumbling profanities, I snatched it up off the blankets and stuffed it in the pocket of my jacket. While I didn't enjoy having it in close contact any more than necessary, I certainly didn't want to risk losing it...

Stepping across the room, I swept aside the curtains and raised the blinds to see—

Snow. It must have fallen during the night. Several inches covered the ground, and it was still coming down.

Pleased, I left the window and walked quietly toward the door. Nobody had come to get me, so I assumed that by "vacation" Loki meant I, too, was free from obligations. For once I would be able to surprise the demigod, instead of the other way around.

I smiled at the thought and stepped out into the hallway, gently closing the door behind me.

When I saw the row of doors that lined the corridor, I realized that finding Loki might not be as easy as I had at first thought. But then again, there were only so many places he could be staying...

On a hunch, I decided to try the closest door to mine. For a moment, I paused, my fingers hovering over the handle. Here I was, standing in the hallway of an expensive house in the middle of Great Britain, actively seeking out the same man who had brought about Barton's death. This all felt strangely like something out of a dream, or an absurd fairytale. Was I still sleeping? Had I really dreamed everything since that night at SHIELD? Maybe I was trapped in intensive care... in a coma.

Feeling like an idiot but unable to resist the urge, I reached up and pinched myself hard on the cheek, and then hissed in pain.

Yes. It was real.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly and silently turned the handle, letting the ornate wooden door swing open. It didn't make a sound.

Smiling again, this time with pleasure at my own stealth, I stepped into the room. The furnishings were rich and elaborate, not unlike the room I had been given, but my eyes went directly to the grand window that was the crowning glory of the left wall. The velvety curtains had been flung back, revealing as much of the window as possible, and soft downy light streamed into the room.

Loki stood before the panes, his form tall, sleek, and rigid against the whiteness. Relief flooded me. It wasn't some stranger who would have me arrested for stalking or something.

His back was to me. A long shadow lay behind him across the richly carpeted floor. I could tell even from this angle that his face was as pale as death behind his locks of raven hair. He was wearing jeans and a thin, simple, cream-colored sweater that didn't look nearly warm for the bitter cold outside.

I walked forward, moving with an ease and a lightness that only an assassin, someone trained in the art of silence, could possess.

When I was standing in his shadow he finally acknowledged my presence, turning just enough for me to see his forehead and the edge of his cheekbone. I could tell that his eyes were still focused on the window, and wondered whether he was really ignoring me, or whether he just had exceptionally keen peripheral vision.

"Hello, Natasha."

His voice gave me chills. I sensed the cold and familiar—but still unsettling—affection that I had come to expect from Loki, and also a slightly chagrined tone, as if he were dismayed or taken aback at my quiet approach.

He turned around to look at me, and when he did, his emerald eyes narrowed a touch, but not in anger. He reached out to touch the sleeve of the jacket, sending a wash of coldness down my arm. A small but satisfied smile crossed his face, and I almost smiled back.

"I've never seen you dressed casually... It becomes you. Shall we go?"

I pressed my lips together, trying hard not to be swayed by his flattery. "To Stonehenge?" I asked, still bewildered at his random trip.

"To Stonehenge," he confirmed, taking my arm and walking me toward the door.

"Aren't you going to get a... well, something a little warmer?" I urged.

Loki said nothing. We navigated the stairs slowly and elegantly, although there was no one in the large house to see our descent. He set the pace, and I followed, wondering exactly how we were going to get to Stonehenge.

"Will we walk there?"

He did not respond, but I felt his grip on my arm tighten slightly.

"Won't the snow bother you?"

Still no reply. His stark silence unnerved me almost as much as his previous affection.

"You might as well talk back, because I'm going to keep asking questions until you do," I decided, glaring up at him.

Loki sighed. "A spy should know the value of silence," he admonished. But then he admitted, "I am not bothered by the cold."

"Why not?"

"That is a discussion for another time, Natasha." The slightest edge of frustration entered his voice.

I ignored it. "Is it because of your magic?"

"Don't make me put another silencing spell on you," he threatened.

At least until we reached the driveway of the Lainston House, I managed to restrain myself. "Seriously, how are we getting there?" The little white Mini-Cooper was nowhere in sight.

"We will ride, of course."

Puzzled, I asked, "What? Motorcycles? That doesn't sound safe."

Loki crunched through the thin layer of snow toward the ivy-covered stables about a quarter mile away. "On horses, of course. They will not slip in the snow as much as one of your machines."

I crossed my arms, unable to resist a smirk. "We can't just ride horses up to Stonehenge, Loki. I know they have a fence to keep people back, and horses will draw a lot of attention anyway. We want to lay low, right?"

Loki hesitated. "Yes..."

"Then have someone to get the car." I shrugged. "It will be quicker and warmer, too."

For a while longer, Loki seemed to debate listening to me or following his own agenda. My way won out, to my delight. Horseback riding with Loki was way too romantic for me, not to mention a horrible idea for the middle of December.

The next twenty minutes passed with barely a word between us. We went back inside, waited for a few minutes while a valet brought the Mini, then hopped in and drove off. There were no other cars when I pulled into the parking lot, although tire tracks ran through the half-melted snow.

I got out from behind the wheel and stared. "It's huge..."

"Of course is it," Loki replied instantly. "Thor never does anything by halves."

"Thor?" I stared up at the tall demigod. This was the first time he had mentioned his brother... "What in the world does he have to do with Stonehenge?"

Loki smiled softly. "I will explain when we have reached the monument." With hands shoved in his pockets, he crossed the street and trudged up the curving, paved path. I chased after him without hesitation. Obviously this was a big deal to him. Loki was staring up at the pillars – not even watching where he was going – with an almost painful expression on his face... Like he was remembering something wonderful that had been taken from him.

My breath caught. _Is this about Sigyn? The medallion?_

Then again, he had been a prince with a lot to lose. Loki could have been thinking about anything. The trail was short, and within three minutes were as far up as tourists were supposed to go. Of course, Loki just stepped over the low wire – not a fence, as I had thought – and walked into the center of the decimated ring of stones.

A fond smile graced his features as he gazed around. Snow dusted everything, adding dignity to the fallen monument. I stood a few feet away from the demigod, hands tucked into my pockets as well, and waited.

"It is surprising how close you Midgardians came to the truth about this place," he began finally. "You suspected that it was an observatory, and gathered evidence that it was a burial ground. Both are correct."

I was stunned. "How could it be both?"

Loki looked slyly at me. "I will tell you." And in the same entrancing way he had spoken back in London, he began a thousand-year old tale.

_Once more, the two goddesses were surrounded by Midgardians. Neither the darkness nor the dancing __flames __which cast strange shadows over everything could hide their beauty; yet that was not why the mortals gathered around. Frigga and her sister Ket spun around the fire with arms above their head and the finest silks of Asgard twirling about them. The Celts were silent, awestruck by their dance. Waist-length blonde hair, bare arms, bare feet, and more gold __jewelry_ _than their king could ever hope to own __gleamed __orange and red in the fire light. Even the ribbons they twisted were crafted from golden threads. Frigga made eye contact with Ket as they spun through a complicated pattern and moved into position for the next segment of their dance. For both Asgardians and Celts alike, the summer solstice was a joyous time for celebration._

_Truthfully, Frigga didn't know who the Celts thought them to be. The strong Norse men and women to the north had told them that these people did not believe in Odin, or even Thor, who had recently come into manhood on Asgard, and fame on Midgard. Frigga knew she and her sister did not appear as any of the Celt's goddesses. Perhaps they thought them nature spirits of some sort._

_All Frigga knew was that a bard had called, so they had come with all the curiousness of young children. It was the third night of their stay with these people, and the second to last. The first day, they had only been welcomed and reverenced, and – Frigga suspected – worshipped. The second was a demonstration of their weaving that had left the Celts astonished. Frigga smiled at the memory as she twirled her ribbon into a band of light above her head. Asgard's symbol, the trinity knot, would soon become a common image among the Celts, if she __judged their expressions correctly._

_Tonight, they danced, and later, they would sing. Frigga and Ket spun and wild circles, splaying their skirts out like flowers. A small group of bards played a variety of instruments, producing a strange yet lovely music that washed over the entire hilltop. Stars gleamed overhead, brighter than usual without the moon's usual glow. Wherever the goddess' feet touched, flowers sprung up in the ankle-deep grass._

_Frigga caught Ket's eye again and smile broadly. They hadn't had this much fun in centuries. The song began to wind down, and Frigga laughed, leaping into the air in a moment of foolishness. The Celts cheered – apparently it had looked beautiful. With a final twist and flick of the ribbons, Frigga and Ket bowed to their audience._

_Hours passed, and the celebration was nearing its close. Frigga strummed her lute, humming along with Ket's beautiful voice. While Ket was renowned for her singing, Frigga had never been able to match her. But there was no jealously between them. Ket, who used her full name – Elsket – only in formal ceremonies, was incredibly humble about her gift, despite being the most frequent entertainment in Odin's halls. Everyone loved Ket, but her sister more than them all. At times, Frigga knew that she paid more attention to Ket than to her two lovely sons or even her husband. Odin did not begrudge Friggaher devotion, however, and neither were Thor and Loki. She smiled at the thought of her children. Adopted or not, she loved them both. _

_Frigga added a quiet harmony to Ket's song, happy and content... Just as the wonderful celebration came crashing down around them. An old, hooded man suddenly rose from the gathered crowd and began to shout. Frigga and Ket both stopped singing and stared, taken aback by his obvious anger, yet unable to understand the language. He pointed at the goddesses, waving his arms and nearly foaming at the mouth, such was the vehemence of his words._

_Frigga rose, and Ket followed swiftly. They turned to face the crowds that had gathered, and Frigga felt behind her for her sister's soft hand. A simple word would send them both soaring back to Asgard should trouble come. _

_The Midgardian elders were hotly debating amongst themselves, but the old man was clearly the leader among them. Several of the women wrapped their arms around their children and began to edge back into the shadows, and most of the men had risen to their feet, faces grave and eyes aflame. _

"_Heimdall," whispered Frigga, clenching Ket's hand protectively. _

_But before the gatekeeper could summon the Bifrost, a shrill scream jerked her attention back to the Midgardians who were gathered around the fire. Several of the women had thrown themselves aside as two men charged through the circle of light. Crude wooden spears were clenched in their fists, and before Frigga could grasp the reality of their situation, they were nearly upon them. _

"_Open the Bifrost!" shouted Frigga, but it was too late. Ket turned and ran in panic. Gasping, Frigga followed her into the darkness beyond the campfire. Spears flew past them, landing harmlessly in the long grasses, and the men shouted angrily. _

_Frigga was now running even with her younger sister, and they darted in and out of the shadows, leading the Midgardians away from the campfire. Their only chance was to lure them into the darkness, and then lose them long enough to return to the solstice circle. Without the Bifrost, they would remain stranded on Midgard. They had brought no weapons, and Frigga had never taken an interest in the study of magic. Her knowledge was rudimentary at best. _

_She saw torches glimmering in the woods before them and realized that she had inadvertently run straight to the Celts' main village. How news had travelled there ahead of the goddesses, Frigga did not know. Perhaps this treachery had been arranged beforehand. But the events did not matter – only the result._

_They were trapped._

_Frigga had grabbed Ket's hand once more and had just begun to run south when her sister cried out, stumbled, and fell. Blood seeped through the back of her white dress, and a stone throwing knife was stuck between her shoulder blades. _

"_No!" Frigga screamed, stooping down. She wrapped her arms around Ket, trying to pull her to her feet, but she remained limp in her sister's grasp. Her head lolled to one side, blonde hair trailing along the ground like a golden waterfall. Blank blue eyes stared up at Frigga from a pain-streaked face. Her lips moved silently. And then a trickle of blood oozed out the side of her mouth. Ket choked without a sound, and then sagged, sinking deeper into Frigga's trembling arms. _

"_Ket!"_

_Frigga's cry of despair was lost to the shouts and yells of the villagers. Sorrow gripped her heart like the jaws of a bear. Her dear sister was gone—gone! Ripped from her arms by the foolish whim of a Midgardian man._

_Rage blinded Frigga. She staggered to her feet, letting Ket's lifeless body drop to the ground, and raised her arms. Raw magic – the kind all Asgardians possessed, yet few used – flooded her veins, and with all the power she could draw forth, Frigga unleashed a flash of white, hellish light. It radiated from her clenched fists with a terrible hiss, scorching the earth and killing everything it touched. The screams of the Midgardians echoed through the summer night. Tears streamed down Frigga's cheeks, her wail of grief rising above the shrieks and cries of the dying. _

_Her beloved Ket was gone..._

_She turned and ran blindly back to the solstice circle, crying Heimdall's name. Ket – sweet, innocent Ket – had been killed. Frigga entered the clearing just as a vortex of rainbow light touched the earth. Heimdall and Odin stepped out, armed and dressed in full battle regalia._

_Frigga choked out their names and fell into her husband's strong arms. She cried unabashedly, mourning the sudden, cruel death of her sister. Heimdall left and returned moments later with Elsket's body cradled in his arms. The Celts trailed behind him with spears dangling at their sides. Most stared, but a few shouted what must have been curses._

_"Pay them no attention," Odin rumbled, pulling his young bride into the Bifrost. "We will make them suffer for such an atrocity."_

_"No," Frigga gulped. "No. They acted out of fear, as did I. We are both guilty... Do not cause them pain for that."_

_Odin hesitated. "As you wish, my dear."_

_Frigga looked out over the hilltop, tears streaming down her face, as it faded and shattered. Then Asgard appeared and she was home. Alive, terribly broken, but home._

Loki sighed and swept a stray lock of hair away from his face. "Thor and I wished to ease her sorrow. This was our gift to her, and our way of honoring the dead."

I blinked, pulling free of the trance, and stared at him in quiet amazement. The snow had begun to fall again, giving him a soft crown of white and a feathery mantle. I tried to speak, but found it hard to form the words after listening to his silver-tongued narration. I thought I was beginning to understand. "So… you buried them. Here."

Loki placed a hand against one of the sturdy pillars and said nothing.

I uncomfortably shoved my hands in my pockets and studied him. Was he sad? Angry? Lost in the past? "I – I'm not quite sure how to put this, but… we've been digging up human remains around Stonehenge for some time." I cringed. "Ket… I mean, Elsket… well, she probably isn't here anymore."

"Nay," Loki said quietly. "For she is buried at the heart of Stonehenge, so far from the light that none shall ever disturb her sleep."

He walked between two large arches set off-center from the ring. "Come here, Natasha," he said softly. "Stand in front of me. I will show you what this was before time ravaged my mother's monument." I moved in front of him and looked up at his face, careful to keep distance between us. He smiled a little, grabbed my shoulders, and spun me around so that I was looking into middle. Then he took a half step forward so that my back brushed against his sweater. "Watch, Natasha," he whispered. In my peripheral vision, I saw him raise his arms. But then I was somewhere entirely different.

A gentle gust of wind blew back my hair and rippled through the spring grasses beneath my feet. I blinked, astonished at the splendor I now beheld. The snow was gone. I no longer felt cold... or wet, but I was still standing in the middle of Stonehenge. A beautiful feeling of exhilaration took hold of me as I stared at the dark, almost black pillars of stone. Magic tingled in the air all around me, and I impulsively stepped forward to touch the nearest pillar. It was rough, yet solid beneath my fingertips, and warm from the rays of the sun. Glancing up, I realized that I was under a wide roof. Light filtered down into the airy room through strategically placed gaps in the stone above, like ancient skylights.

When I glanced down at myself, I realized that I was no longer wearing what I had selected that morning from the closet. Instead, I was clothed in a beautiful, summery blue dress, the exact same color as the sky. The skirts came down barely past my knees, and my feet and arms were bare. I reached across to rub my fingers across my opposite arm, and felt smooth skin. How had Loki done that?

Speaking of Loki, where was he? I spun around, but he was no longer standing behind me. For a moment I panicked, but then I decided that he couldn't just _abandon_ me. He had to be here, somewhere... The tall stone monument encircled me on all sides, and I took several steps toward the edge of the ring, where the daylight was brighter. The heavenly aroma of crushed flowers and spring breezes sent my senses whirling. I laid my palm on one of the pillars and let it slide across the stone, slowly walked around each huge monolith, moving from one to the next in slow, steady circles.

Runes had been carved into the stone, and though I could not read them, my fingertips tingled when they touched them, as if they had been carved by magic. I didn't doubt for a moment that they had.

"Glorious, is it not?"

I caught my breath and turned to look in the direction of the voice. I saw nothing, though I was sure I had heard Loki.

"Yes!" I whispered, still ravaging the stone circle with my eyes. Nothing. Not even a shadow. "It's... it's amazing."

"I thought so," Loki said quietly.

I turned and looked again, but his voice seemed to come from all around me, and I could not pinpoint his location. "Where are you?" I asked, confused.

"Right here," he breathed. I felt smooth, cold hands touch mine. I flinched, surprised, but let him wrap his fingers around my knuckles.

Another breeze swept through the monument, rustling the grass, and I thought I heard a gentle thump, like the beating of a heart. I quickly removed one of my hands from Loki's invisible grasp and self-consciously put it on my chest, but my heart was barely fluttering. It couldn't have been me.

There was another thump, and then a steady, rhythmic beat, like tribal drums. I felt it, deep down to the core of my being, and wondered whether it was simply another illusion of Loki's or whether something strange was happening near the present-day Stonehenge. I knew that it had to be Loki's influence when a high, clear soprano began to sing somewhere in the distance. It sounded just like I had imagined Elsket's beautiful voice—no, even better. I couldn't understand the language, but the soaring notes and wild, breathtaking melody made my heart sing as if in reply.

I didn't realize I had started to sway back and forth until I felt Loki's hand on my hip. I abruptly stopped moving, but his other arm had already slid around my shoulders, and I let myself be drawn into his arms. The logical side of my brain protested – this was all too strange! I couldn't see him, but I could feel him. None of this was real, but the sun warmed my face anyway. And I was hearing music that seemed to come out of nowhere.

But the scent of the flowers, Loki's calming touch, and the beauty that surrounded me won out over logic.

"Why can't I see you?" I protested, unable to overcome that absurdity.

"It is the nature of the spell," Loki apologized. "I cannot recreate myself in the recipient's new reality, and can only influence you from the outside world. This is why I am present, but not visible in your eyes."

He rocked me gently back and forth, and—almost against my will—I relaxed, resting my head on his shoulder and staring at the pillars of stone. I felt as if we were in the middle of a strange, grand hall, with no walls and no floor.

"You see," he whispered into my hair, "Stonehenge was once the loveliest place on earth. Thor erected this monument in honor of Elsket and the slain Midgardians, hoping to ease my mother's sorrow. The runes have long faded, but I carved them once, with all the care in the world, and laid many spells of comfort and love upon this hill. The years have ravaged the pillars of stone, and stolen away the vibrant life that once blossomed here, but they cannot destroy the memories we left behind."

I leaned against him and blinked at the pillars that were now bathed in a golden glow. Loki danced me through the shafts of sunlight that streamed over and under the stones, and I followed his lead. I had danced only once or twice in my life, and never this particular step, but somehow, with Loki's arms around me, it seemed incredibly easy. I could smell his hair and his leather jacket, and closed my eyes, letting him waltz me around and around…

It was so surreal that I did not question the powerful emotions sweeping through me.

It simply _was_.

Loki ended the dance just as a wash of cold air swept over me. The light suddenly dimmed, and the fragrance of crushed flower petals was replaced with the clear smell of winter and snow. I kept my eyes closed, still holding tightly to his leather jacket: if I opened my eyes and found myself in Loki's arms, I thought I might scream.

But curiosity eventually won out over embarrassment, and I blinked open my eyes. We were standing between the arches, exactly where we had been before Loki had taken me back in time. Snowflakes fell around us, landing on my eyelashes and brushing against my face.

I pulled away quickly, self-conscious and unhappy with the situation. I felt as if I had been somehow tricked into doing something... unnatural. Something I would not ordinarily have done.

Loki's hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment longer, and I tried to keep myself from going completely rigid. He would know it made me uncomfortable if I stiffened up under his touch, and I was not sure how he would react to my unease after our dance.

But Loki wasn't even looking at me anymore. He had turned away and was already trudging through the snow toward the parking lot.

I lingered in the Stonehenge for a minute more, watching my white breath hang in the air between the pillars. What Loki had shown me had seemed to be not a vision, but a reality. A place between the worlds, and a time out of time, yet as real as the ground beneath my feet.

Logic dictated that it had been a vision. Loki had told me it was magic. But the memory of a pristine Stonehenge lingered like something more than a dream…

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Wow. It's been a long time. Sorry, guys! Lassie blames herself for the delay, but it was both of our faults... (Although I personally blame finals!)**

**We hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
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**Free cookies and hugs to anyone that reviews! ;)**


	28. The Hulk Returns

Two quiet days passed at the Lainston House. I hardly saw Loki: he could have been out conquering another country, for all I knew. But despite, or maybe because, of the demigod's absence, I found myself more relaxed than I had been in a really, really long time. I passed the time swimming, skeet shooting, hiking, and even trying my hand at the small archery range. But brought up memories of Barton, and I had to stop after less than ten minutes.

As our third day of vacation neared its zenith, I found myself missing Brita. Lord knows why, but the little girl had planted herself firmly in my heart, temper tantrums and all. On a whim, I left my room and entered Loki's again. He was not there, surprisingly. The bed didn't even look slept in, unlike my own, which was a tangle of sheets and random clothes.

In the back pocket of my jeans, the medallion vibrated ever so slightly, cold as always. Off and on, it would vibrate, but I hadn't been able connect it to anything.

"Natasha?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing in here?" he asked curiously.

"Looking for you."

"Why?"  
"Because I'm bored." Our relationship had shifted in a subtle (or maybe not so subtle) way since Stonehenge: I found that I wasn't scared of him anymore. Maybe it was realizing that he had a family – or at least part of one – that he cared about. Or maybe it was that he had simply opened up to me. Or maybe the slow dance, but I didn't want to think about that.

"Well, we wouldn't want the great Natasha Romanoff to be bored, would we?" Loki said with a smirk.

"I miss Brita too."

He slowly nodded. "Then it is fortunate that we are leaving immediately to another house, is it not?"

"Where are we going?" I asked warily. "What about Brita?"

"It would be interesting, Natasha, if you simply put your faith in me for once. Without any questions." He held out a hand, his face unreadable.

I frowned at him.

"...Please."

Slightly mollified, but still annoyed at yet another move, I cautiously took his hand. "Wait. Wouldn't Brita have fun here? Why can't we stay here?"

Loki sighed and grabbed my hand before I could protest further. The teleportation was faster than the last few times – after only a second of ice and wind, we stood in the middle of a familiar living room.

"The forest home!" I exclaimed, dropping his hand and rushing to the window.

"NA!" From the living room, Brita streaked into my legs. "I missed you!"

"You used proper grammar!" I laughed.

"Course she did." The nanny trailed after Brita, her red face set into a scowl. "She spoke like someone half her age until I got my hands on the poor thing. Didn't you send her to primary school?"

"Brita's only four!" Shocked, I scooped the girl up into my arms. "She's too young for elementary school!"

The nanny gave an exasperated noise. "What do those Americans call it? Preschool? Yeah. Preschool. Why didn't Brita go to preschool?"

"We just-"

"You are dismissed," Loki broke in, his voice hard. "Payment will be transferred to you in the method we discussed previously."

The nanny bristled at his tone. "It's not my fault that your wife-"

Loki, if possible, appeared even taller. His eyes narrowed, turned vibrant red, and his body shifted to a frightening shade of blue.

Brita screamed for second, but a wave of Loki's hand silenced her. I backed away, still holding the child, staring at Loki in fright. Was it a spell? An illusion? The nanny fell backwards, her mouth literally hanging open.

"Natasha is not my wife," Loki spat, his breath clouding the air in front of him. "You will leave this house immediately."

She nodded so vigorously that her dull blonde hair fell out of the faded handkerchief she had it tied back with. Loki raised a hand as she stumbled to feet, pink-faced and sweating. "I'm going! I'm going!"

"You can't leave." The blue color leaked out of Loki's skin, leaving him looking almost human once more. But his eyes remained intensely red.

"W-what?" The nanny stuttered.

"You cannot leave this house. If you did so, you will be lost in the surrounding woods for hours. At this time of your Midgardian calender, night falls fast and with a vengeance. You would be dead before morning of any number of causes. Hypothermia, wild animal attacks, falling off one of the many gorges and cliffs in this area, even drowning."

The nanny was a nasty shade of shrimpy-pink. "T-then-"

"You will leave with me." Loki reached out and touched her arm, and even as she flinched away, they both vanished. Loki reappeared only a moment later, a satisfied smile on his face.

"You are now in charge of Brita again," he ordered.

"No, duh," I replied, looking down at the sweet girl. "But what are we doing next?"

Loki pressed his lips together. "We are moving forward with my plans for America. Britain was a valuable tool and starting point, but it is here where the game will be made." His gaze dropped to Brita. "Ah. Yes. Natasha, would you please put the child down so that I may speak to her?"

Stunned, I gently deposited her at my feet. "Why?"

"I must rectify our relationship."

_What in world is he up to?_

Brita grabbed the hem of her shirt and swayed back and forth a little, staring at Loki. He knelt down, but even then, he was almost two feet taller than her. The demigod leaned in until they were at eye level. One set of vivid green eyes stared into a wide pair of sky-blue ones. One ancient, murderous, tortured demigod. One young, pure, innocent human child.

"Brita. Søte barn." Loki began a speech in short, probably simple sentences. He continued to talk in what I assumed was Norwegian though, with Brita occasionally shaking or nodding her head. Once, she said a single word: "Utdyr?" Loki vigorously shook his head and rattled off a string of words that somehow sounded rolling and harsh at the same time. I decided on the spot that Norwegian was a beautiful language: one I must learn.

Throughout it all, I watched silently, trying to puzzle out Loki's reason for becoming (apparently) friends with Brita. Finally, Loki gently touched Brita's shoulder. She smiled at him. I gaped in amazement at the pair of them.

"Run along now," he said calmly, standing up. "I hear that you have a room full of toys upstairs."

Brita squealed and pelted towards the stairs without a glance in my direction.

"Did you put a spell on her?" I hissed as soon as the girl was out of earshot.

"No. I explained what I am in her terms."

"What?"

Loki sighed. "I told her that I become a monster only to protect you and her. It took some convincing, but believes me now. That will make traveling much easier on all of us." He smiled. "You should thank me. Now, I must go prepare for our next move. Kindly stay here and watch over Brita while I am gone."

He nodded to me, and vanished in the blink of an eye. And then, like so many times before, I waited. Or rather, _we_ waited. But Brita was occupied with her room of toys and gave me no trouble. Quickly, I discovered that not only was the pantry fully stocked, but my entire wardrobe from the Lainston House had appeared in the closet of the guest room I had claimed for myself. The hours slipped by with a mix of simple exercises, walking through walls for Brita's entertainment, reading snippets from Edgar Allen Poe (which I then returned to its rightful place on the coffee table of the library room), and sitting blankly on the couch, wondering what Loki was up to. He did appear once or twice, but he always went straight into his room without speaking.

So it was a surprise, mid-afternoon two days after our return to the forest house, when he appeared in front of me.

"You look lost in thought," he said by way of greeting.

"Just wondering what you're going to do about the Avengers."

"Ah." Loki looked pleased. "Well, I have several plans for them. The first one is set in motion this very evening. Do you think that Brita can look after herself for a few hours?"

"No. What are we doing?"

"Very well – I will get a sitter. And we are going out to dinner, dear Natasha."

I groaned. "Again? That didn't go so well last time..." Our last meal out had been ruined, or perhaps saved, by the Hulk.

"Exactly." He brightened further under my glare. "Select any of the long dresses from your closet," he said. "I will give you a few hours." Loki left the living room. I waited on the couch until his footsteps stopped and a door closed.

Once more, I left on my own with instructions to dress nicely. What did Loki like so much about that set-up?

"Brita!" I called, walking upstairs. "Where are you, sweetie?"

"Here!" She poked her head out of the toy room – a repurposed bedroom – and grinned at me.

"Do you want to come watch me get ready?" I asked. Didn't little girls like that kind of thing?

Brita answered in the affirmative with a delighted squeal. She disappeared for a moment, ducking into the toy room. My next glimpse of her brought a smile to my face. Brita trotted down the hall towards me, her arms overflowing with dolls. Once we were both inside, I shut and locked the door to my room. Brita bounced onto my unmade bed and began to arrange her dolls in front of her, talking quietly to herself. Satisfied that she was happy and that Loki wouldn't come barging in, I opened the closet and began to sort through the expensive dresses.

The first one that caught my eye was a deep blue-green. I traced the sweetheart neckline on the sleeveless bodice and pulled it out.

"What do you think, _мой ангел_?"

It occurred to me then that my past self would have laughed at the mere idea of accepting fashion advice from a four-year-old. Yet here we were, like mother and child. The word _mother _made my spine tingle. I could never have children of my own. And even in my fantasies, I had always imagined them to be fathered by Clint. This little waif wasn't even mine—but she retained an innocence that made me want to claim her as such…

Shaking away painful thoughts, I took the soft material and made the ocean-blue hem swirl gracefully.

Brita glanced up from her toys and smiled. "I like it," she said shyly.

Reaching down, I touched the feathered skirt. "It is really nice... but almost... Hm." Unsure, I carefully hung it back up and grabbed another dress at random. This one was pure white and covered in tiny crystals with a heavily draped back. The third dress I selected was red-orange with a raunchy V-cut neckline. "What in the world?" I muttered, scanning the others.

Loki tapped on the door. "Natasha?"

"What?"

"I forgot to give you something."

After a glance at Brita, I flung open the door. "All the dresses you gave me are for the red-carpet," I said flatly.

"Red carpet?" Loki's eyebrows drew together. "I simply sent for the most beautiful dresses in this branch of the Yggdrasil."

It was my turn to be confused. "The what? And why something so fancy?"

"Why not?" Loki held out a pistol and a thigh holster. "You will need these. I would give you something more, but we have need of secrecy. I assume you can improvise a weapon?"

"Well, yeah..." I reached out and took the gun. "Who are we fighting?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet."

And then he swept down the hall, leaving me puzzled and worried. Slowly, I closed the door. "Um..."

"Na?"

"Yes, Brita?"

"What's wrong?"

I turned to the child. "Oh, I'm just... concerned for Loki."

"Why?"

"Because he's- I dunno. Not completely prepared." I grabbed the first, dark blue dress I had chosen and draped it across the bed. Now that I knew we were going to be fighting, this would be the most practical dress. It was surprisingly light, and if I could move with the long skirt (which would easily hide my gun) I would have no problem fighting in it. A quick search of the closet revealed a pair on spandex shorts, which I quickly pulled on before slipping into the dress. Experimentally, I threw a few kicks, punches, and rolls while Brita watched curiously.

"Hm. Not bad... Although it would be easier if the skirt was shorter." I resolved to ask Loki for a knife and dug around for a pair of shoes. The dress brushed the top of my feet, so if I could find a sturdy pair of flats, I wouldn't have to worry about fighting in heels...

I found a pair of silver flats that were perfect. And after a quick trip to the bathroom for a light coat of makeup, I was ready to go. Except for a knife. With Brita on my heels, I went back downstairs, enjoying the floaty effect of my dress. It really would be a shame to rip it up, but if the choice was between the dress and my life, well...

"Are you ready so soon?" Loki asked, adjusting a beige scarf around his neck. I openly stared. A scarf?

"Uh, mostly. Why are you wearing a scarf?"

He smirked. "New York City is currently having one of the coldest days in recorded history. I must appear to mind the weather. You, however, will need this." He held out a black peacoat. "Brita's sitter will be ready shortly, and I will go fetch her."

It stuck me how like a normal couple we seemed – a fabulously rich couple, but still...

"I need a knife," I told him, and quickly explained why as I buttoned up the jacket he had given me.

Loki nodded thoughtfully as I spoke, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Very well," he said, reaching into his suit coat pocket and withdrawing a medium-sized combat knife.

"Thanks." I grabbed it, hefted it the get a feel for the balance, and disappeared into the kitchen to slip it behind my gun on my thigh. I sighed happily as I let the skirt drop. It felt amazing to be confident again. This wasn't my first choice of missions, but it was a purpose. And I felt prepared, even relaxed.

"Natasha?"

I walked back into the living room and immediately took stock of the new woman. She was in her late teens, short with kinky black hair and dark skin. The babysitter flashed me a tight smile. "Do you always wizz around like that?" she asked, nodding ever so slightly in Loki's direction.

"A teenager?" I asked.

"Short notice," Loki replied, taking my arm. "It was the best my contact could do."

The teenager looked offended, but we were gone before she could say a word.

As promised, New York City appeared out of the swirling colors, lit up and full of people. I noticed that while it had been only dusk back at the forest home, it was well past sundown here. At least now I had some clue as to where we were staying...

"This way, Natasha." He dropped my arm and began to walk down the street.

I kept by his side, scanning the city for either a clock or a familiar building. And the first thing that I saw, right in front of my face, was Stark Tower. About two buildings down, Loki stopped and appeared to be interested in the storefront of an expensive clothing line.

"What do you think of that blouse?" he asked, pointing to a dress.

I smiled and corrected him. "The dress is lovely. I'm not sure what blouse you're talking about."

He glanced down at me. "Of course. That's what I meant," he said icily.

I raised an eyebrow at him, which he ignored, looking pointedly at Stark Tower instead of me. After a minute of gazing at the mannequins, Loki drifted down the street, edging surreptitiously closer to the skyscraper.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"For that."

I followed his gaze and watched a small black car pull out from behind Stark Tower, turn into the road, and vanish around a corner. "Who was that?"

"Our target. Now," Loki glanced at his watch, "if we walk there rather briskly, we will be right on time."

"Right on time for what?"

"Stop asking questions," Loki growled.

I obediently shut up and concentrated on keeping up with his long stride. New York City was obviously ready for the holidays, if the hundreds of wreaths, Christmas lights, and carolers where ay indication. We passed a bank, which informed me that it was about seven thirty, December 20th. I had been with Loki for over two months now...

It took us about twenty minutes to reach Loki's goal – an extremely swanky restaurant named Le Bernadin. It was on the third floor of the AXA Center, and packed to the gills with people. I was relieved to see that I was not the best-dressed woman there. Loki spoke to the host, who spoke to a manger, who led us personally through the crowd to a single empty table.

I was used to Loki's way of getting whatever he wanted by now, but the face I recognized near the door made my heart stop. Bruce Banner. He was sitting with a rather plain looking woman – perhaps a co-worker – on the other side of the room, engaged in furious conversation, although he didn't appear to be fighting with her.

I shot Loki a pained look as we drew nearer to the Hulk and his companion. Luckily, our seat was behind them, but we still had to walk past... They didn't look up as we approached. As we passed them, I heard a few phrases of their whispered conversation.

"I can't believe..."

"Tony's gift-"

"But still! We're not even-"

"I know, but he wouldn't give up."

"I feel so out of place..."

"You and me both."

Then their voices faded into the general babble.

As soon as we were seated and alone, I pounced on Loki. "Dr. Banner! Again? Don't you remember what happened last time? You _lost_!" I hissed.

He just smirked. "But now I am prepared."

"Who is he with?" I asked.

"I do not know." He frowned and stared over my shoulder. "I do not recognize her."

Unable to resist the temptation, I glanced over at her. She wore her light brown hair loose over a simple white dress. There was absolutely nothing recognizable about her.

"What's your plan?" I asked, turning back to Loki.

"I am just waiting for the proper moment to attack," he replied. "Let us not speak of that any more. Just enjoy the meal."

Still curious, but not willing to make him mad and get us both killed should he loose his temper before the proper time, I quietly ate the first two courses. Gradually, Loki began to tense. He glanced more frequently at Dr. Banner until he could barely eat. As the rest of the restaurant dug into the third course, I set down my fork, watching him.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

He flinched. And then I realized that he was incredibly nervous. Well, honestly, I was too. But he had more to fear...

"Yes," he said after a moment. Smoothly, he got to his feet. "I challenge you to single combat!" he shouted without prelude.

Everyone fell silent, staring at him like the madman he was.

Bruce's shoulders tensed, and he slowly turned to face us.

"You must answer for your crimes against humanity, Dr. Banner," Loki continued, in that gilded, serpentine voice that I knew signaled a fast-approaching storm. His normal garb had shifted to full blown, shining Asgardian armor. "You are a monster, and a danger to this entire realm. You must answer for that, and for your recent mistake in London." The last words were tainted with bitterness.

I got to my feet and reached for my knife, ignoring the gaping looks of the poor people who were going to get caught in the middle of this. I hoped they would evacuate. Now.

Dr. Banner got to his feet, a look of utter resignation on his face.

"Bruce?" the woman whispered, although it sounded loud in the silent room. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered back, squeezing her hand for a second. Then he left her, sitting stunned in her chair. "Why, Natasha?" he asked all of a sudden, turning his dark gaze to me.

I started and almost stabbed myself with the knife. "W-what?"

"Why are you working for him? He's insane. You know he will kill you when you offer him nothing anymore."

Loki stepped in front of me. "Your fight is with me, Dr. Banner. Not with her."

His eyebrows rose, and green began to tinge his skin. "So that's the way the dice fell," he whispered.

I tore off the bottom half of my dress and tossed it to the side. His comment made no sense... As soon as I pulled my gun out, Loki lunged. And where Dr. Banner had been, the Hulk raged. His companion's scream was the first of many as the two collided with a burst of gold light.

I held my hand across my eyes, half-blinded, and then blinked furiously, recoiling and trying to see through the afterglow. The two of them rebounded from the force of the hit, and the entire building quaked. The sick feeling that had been growing in the pit of my stomach since the second course now became outright nausea. I held my breath as the Hulk roared and sent his green fist flying hard toward Loki's head.

There was a dazzling flash of blue light, and then a sharp crack. The Hulk actually stumbled as his massive arm was flung back. I gripped the knife in a white-knuckled fist as I realized that Loki's features were turning dark and twisted. A blue tinge spread across his face, and strange markings appeared on his cheekbones and forehead. His eyes flared like two scarlet beacons.

I glanced toward the deserted table and saw the brunette crouched beneath it, one delicate hand clenching the edge of the tablecloth and her other clamped over her mouth as she watched the disaster unfold with wide-eyed horror.

The Hulk bellowed, squatting in the corner where Loki's blast had thrown him and pounding his fists on the floor like a giant ape. He was confused—and angry...

Loki crouched in the opposite corner, holding his spear in a menacing position. It had somehow appeared in his hand, and was pulsing with light, as if it were a luminous blue heart. A low, ominous thrum filled the room, and something like static electricity made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Gripping my gun, I leaned toward Loki's still form, ready to step in should anything happen but not wanting to get caught in the deadly crossfire. Loki's gleaming eyes remained locked on Hulk, but he jerked his head very slightly to one side. I caught his subtle movement and remained where I was, holding my breath.

With a booming roar, Hulk charged Loki, fists swinging and teeth bared. Loki snarled and thrust the spear forward with an expert flick of his wrist. I cringed and flattened myself against the wall as a low rumble shook the ground. We were only on the third floor, and if this building came crashing down—

I blinked, astonished.

Hulk had stopped running. His bulky arms were outstretched, hands clenched, as if he were straining hard against an invisible wall. He let loose a frustrated growl and began to pound against something solid. Something that would not give way, no matter how fierce his assault. On the other side of the magical barrier, Loki gritted his teeth. I saw his jaw working furiously as he held out the glowing spear. Some normal, human color had begun to seep back into his features in elongated streaks, which only made him look more freakish than before. Both hands were wrapped tightly around his spear, and his legs were spread apart in a fighting stance. His joints and muscles remained locked in place for several seconds as Hulk fought against the nothingness.

Then he pulled back, stepping deftly to one side as Hulk went smashing across the room. He thudded against the wall. Plaster hailed down from the ceiling, and with a faint buzz and a flicker, half the lights in the restaurant went black.

At least a dozen screams rang out. A door slammed somewhere in the room, and then I heard a female shriek. The Hulk's roar was accompanied by stomping footsteps, and the entire complex shook once more. Furniture was smashed loudly, and I slapped my hand over my cheek as a sharp fragment of something flashed past my face, slicing the skin. Blood stuck to my fingers and I dove behind a table, still clutching my gun. There was no feasible way to stop such a monster with such a small weapon, even for someone of my skill. Bullets had no effect on the Hulk. Only magic seemed to be of any use, and I had none of that...

Just as I was about to drop the weapon in despair, a whole squad of policemen burst into the ruined restaurant, eyes wide with fear. But their guns, aimed at Loki, were resolute. I was suddenly infused with purpose.

Forgetting my fright of the Hulk, I rose up over the table and fired a full clip at the cops. Most of my bullets hit home. With the threat of them cut in half, I briefly turned my attention back to Loki and the Hulk.

It wasn't going well. The Hulk had apparently flung himself at Loki again, only to be stopped by the magical wall, but Loki was now on his knees, staff held above him and teeth clenched. Blood ran into his eyes from several small cuts on his forehead. The Hulk struggled against the wall, his arms flailing in slow motion, as if he were swimming through syrup. It was obvious that Loki's magical wall was crumbling under brute force.

Several bullets sent splinters flying from the table I crouched behind, drawing my attention to the policemen. With quick, well-practiced movements, I reloaded my gun and sent another clip into the squad. Maybe later I would feel guilt for killing so many people who were just doing there jobs, but not now. Now was now, and they would kill me if I didn't defend myself.

Loki gave a shout in a strange language, and the Hulk went flying backwards, smashing into the bar and shattering a hundred bottles of liquor. Glass shards and a near wave of alcohol added to the destruction of Le Bernadin. Loki slumped against an overturned chair, his face now deathly white. I reloaded and fired a few shots at the police, who had ducked behind cover. Then I rushed for Loki. If he couldn't control the Hulk...

Halfway there, the Hulk roared and shook his head, coming out of his daze. I froze instantly, staring at him with wide eyes. In fact, the entire restaurant fell quiet, waiting for the monster's next move. For a long second, I could only hear the heavy breathing of everyone in the room. Then the Hulk roared once more, grabbed a table, and flung it to the side. A sharp scream, suddenly cut off, blasted through the room. I glanced in its direction and saw a still, bloody lump of white fabric under the remains of the table. With another bellow, the Hulk lunged at Loki. The demigod couldn't move fast enough and disappeared under flying green fists.

I shouted Loki's name without thinking and fired three shots at the Hulk's back. He didn't flinch. Moments later, bullets smashed into the tiled floor around me. Assassin reflexes kicking in, I retreated for cover. This was so incredibly stupid. Loki was going to get himself killed, and then where would I be? Left holding the pieces of his giant plan and with most of the world searching for my head. And that was only if I survived the Hulk's rage...

Loki emerged from a huge crater in the floor, shaking and bloodied. He cradled one arm to his chest with his spear hanging limply in one hand. The Hulk had pulled back for a moment, but was preparing the final stroke even as I watched. There was less than a second for me to make a choice. Did I leave Loki to his fate, or try and save him?

"Hulk!" I screamed, firing my gun at his back again. After only a few shots, the cartridge was empty and I had no more ammo. But my shout had been enough to divert his attention, just as he swung another massive fist at Loki. It missed his head and hit the demigod's knee instead, crippling him in an instant.

We had to run. But how? _Where?_

"Hulk!" I screamed again, breaking cover and darting toward the monster. Miraculously, the police didn't fire. I would be dead soon enough. The Hulk turned toward me, eyes narrowed and mouth hanging open as he panted. With my knife clutched in one hand, I stopped twenty feet away. "What are you doing?" I cried, wincing at my own words. But I had to do something – anything – to distract him. Under his legs, I saw Loki bent double on the ground, bleeding from a hundred different places and his leg twisted at a _very_ wrong angle.

There was something about this insane situation that reminded me of the fight back under the SHIELD complex. The fight with The Thing and the Chitauri. And all of a sudden, an idea came to me. Without any time to waste, I shouted Loki's name to get his attention.

"Loki! Use my energy!" He lifted his head a little. That was enough for me. With a wild scream, I hurled my knife at the Hulk and dived between its legs. "Loki, Loki, Loki teleport!" I cried in desperation, holding his arm in a death grip. Groggily, he reached and touched my hand with one bloody finger. "Go, go! ANYWHERE!"

His bleary green eyes focused on mine. I felt all the warmth and life slowly and painfully seeping from my hands to his.

And then there was cold and darkness.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Sorry this took so long- life's been crazy for both of us! Hopefully the length will make up for it? We love all your reviews! *hugs all around***


	29. Sentimental Confessions

I barely had a chance to take in our surroundings before shrill screams sent me into full attack mode. With only an empty-chambered gun as a weapon, I dropped Loki to the floor and whirled in the direction of the screams.

Three tall, Asian women shouted, screamed, and gestured at us with terrified faces. A man ran up and shoved the women aside to peer into the room. I lunged for him, swinging wildly.

My fist connected with his face, and his nose crunched under my knuckles. He fell to the floor, face bloodied and eyes closed. The women grabbed him and ran, shrieking in an oriental tongue that I could not understand.

With a quick gasp of effort, I slammed the door, locking it and turning to face the carnage that was lying face-down in the middle of the room.

I had no idea where we were. Loki – Loki had slipped into unconsciousness during the brief fight.

Good.

For once, I was in charge. A comforting blanket – or maybe shield – of power made my every action effortless and determined. With my empty gun in one hand, I eased out of the room, intent on doing several things before Loki awoke. Firstly, discover where he had brought us. Secondly, find a safe house – preferably _this _house or building or whatever. Thirdly, find out what was happening back in New York. And afterwards, I supposed, make sure that Loki was in a position to heal himself. I was more concerned with my own safety than that of the man who had almost killed me.

The hallways were lavish, covered from ceiling to floor in elaborate, oriental décor. I came to the end of the corridor and found myself standing at the head of a wooden staircase, complete with a carved handrail and distinctly Asian tapestries on the wall. I put my hand on the smooth, polished wood and let it glide down the banister as I descended into an ornate entryway. A rounded door led me into a picturesque garden, complete with a little waterfall and a frozen pond.

The winding stone path was overshadowed by the bare limbs of cherry trees. Snow dusted the plants and pond surface, but had been melted to slush beneath my feet.

Carefully, I followed the path around several large bushes, over an artificial creek, and back into another large, dark-wood building. Several Asian faces peeped through the curtains of the upper rooms, but quickly hid themselves again. I stepped up to the front porch and tried the door. It was unlocked, and I entered without hesitation.

The first thing that caught my attention was a huge mural across the room, depicting a forested landscape, at the center of which stood Mount Fuji in full snow. I was surprised to find no one at the front desk, but when I peered behind it, a small brown-eyed child looked up at me, giggled, and scurried away.

Brita.

She was still with the babysitter back at the forest home. Overwhelmed with a sudden surge of simultaneous love, concern, and anger, I cursed aloud.

Sitting down at the desk, I swiveled the chair over to a desktop and shook the mouse to wake it up. The screensaver disappeared, revealing a plethora of Japanese characters and spreadsheets. I clicked each one down and found the internet without too much trouble. The home page immediately flashed on, and though the headline was in Japanese, the picture beneath it needed no words: the ruined Le Bernadin and a massive green blur in the left corner.

I stared at the article in displeasure, but no amount of squinting made the characters any more legible. Finally fed up, I copied the entire page and pulled up a new tab, found the Google homepage, and navigated my way to the translator from there. Ten minutes later, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the translated article in horror.

The death toll was unbelievably high, and by all accounts the Hulk was still raging through the streets of Manhattan. Tony Stark was attempting to subdue him in an unidentified new suit of armor, but with limited success. We had been noticed, identified, and (rightly) blamed for the entire deadly fiasco. No doubt SHIELD had already enacted emergency search protocol on our behalf.

Would they look for us in Japan? I didn't know.

With my list being completed out of order, I searched the desk for a business card. I knew what had happened back in New York, and I knew what country we were in, but I still needed to find out what exactly this place was and how to clear out all the people who didn't need to see us.

Another quick minute on Google Translate revealed that this was a kind of resort-spa in the upper, mountainous region of mainland Japan. Being the middle of winter, it was the off-season here, much to my relief. There wouldn't be more than one or two guests and a handful of support staff.

Reluctant, but resolved, I grabbed my gun off the desk beside me and marched deeper into the resort, yelling random Latin phrases (to avoid any connections that could be made to me) and waving my gun at everyone I met. It was effective, but made me feel guilty. These poor innocent people.

I had never thought of my victims before – a kind of sad relief filled me. Despite the last few horrible months, I had retained some of the humanity SHIELD had shoved down my throat.

With the resort cleared of all staff and guests, I found my way back to Loki. He was still knocked out. However, he still had a strong pulse, so I left him alone for another ten minutes while I found keys, locked all the doors, pulled all electric cords, and found a first-aid kit. Then, and only then, did I bother to clean myself up. I cleaned and bandaged my cuts, sighed at the myriad of rainbow bruises on my back and legs, found some food to eat, and _then_ turned my attention to Loki.

I knew he could heal himself, but his broken bones and blood-soaked skin looked both painful and disturbing.

With a longsuffering moan, I plopped myself down on the carpet at his side and opened the first aid kit again. There was some antibiotic spray and gauze left in the bottom, and I went to work immediately, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. When I had worked my way down to his leg, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the mangled limb. I didn't know how many times the bone had been broken, and I was no doctor. I didn't think I could set his leg without causing further damage.

Defeated, I slumped over and stared at the bloody pieces of gauze that I had tied around his left arm. I had ruined his clothes again.

"Feel free to wake up anytime," I muttered, climbing to my feet and wiping my hands on my torn dress. "You got us in this mess, you know. It's getting really old."

His lip twitched.

"Oh, good. Welcome back to the world, Loki." I wasn't feeling very sympathetic.

"Thank you," he said faintly, his mouth barely moving. Loki's eyes stayed closed, crusted as they were with blood.

Unmoved, I grabbed a clean piece of gauze, dumped part of a bottle of water on it, and dabbed gently at his face. "You've been bleeding all over the floor for half an hour."

"It was my pleasure." His brow wrinkled slightly, and he tried to blink open his eyes. I watched this demonstration of weakness without a word, distancing myself from his pain and encasing my heart in an icy shell of apathy. I felt nothing. "As you have no doubt suspected, my injuries are more severe than last time. Accordingly, it will take much longer for me to recover my strength and heal myself."

"Oh. Do you want some painkiller while we wait? Or maybe some sushi?"

He gave a weak laugh, and then several rasping coughs. "You did not enjoy our dinner out, dear Natasha?"

"Don't call me dear – not after almost getting me killed," I snapped.

His eyes finally peeled open, and the sharp green hues were startlingly vivid against his pale skin and sunken features. For a moment, I witnessed something very rare: undisguised pain. Mental anguish. Torment. I had seen it once before, in Barton's eyes, after I had been shot in the shoulder during the Budapest conflict.

His next words were slow in coming, and held a great deal more conviction than I was expecting. "I did not mean for that to happen."

"Then why would you take on the Hulk again?" I demanded.

"To weaken the Avengers," he murmured quietly, sounding lost in a daze. His voice grew a bit stronger as he continued, "To bring their numbers down. If they still stand, I cannot claim America as my own."

"Why in single combat? Couldn't you have gotten help from someone?"

"The Chitauri are no longer mine to command," Loki scoffed. "And you..." Again, that flash of humanity, of emotion. "I didn't want you to get hurt."

I glanced down at my bruises and scrapes. "That worked well."

"But you are not dead." Loki's eyes fluttered shut again. "That's all that matters now..."

"What!?" I stared at him. His words sounded... strange. Almost like they were out of a movie. "What do you mean?" I asked, emotions flopping uncontrollably between horror and sudden thrill.

"You've been so blind," Loki whispered brokenly. A cut on his bottom lip cracked open again, sending rivulets of blood trickling down his chin. "Even Dr. Banner saw..." He opened his brilliantly green eyes and stared up at me. "When I gave you your powers, I also placed a spell of bondage on you so that you wouldn't leave. The dreams were just a side-effect... But I had to lift it. I could see you accepting me, and I couldn't stand for our comradery to be artificial. So I released you from your bondage. And you immediately rebelled."

"Steve," I breathed, remembering. "I let him go..."

Loki nodded, his breath rasping and bubbling in his throat. He waited a moment, swallowing once and I saw him grow still more limp on the carpet, as if he had used a bit of energy to heal an urgent wound. After a brief pause, the demigod went on. "I was so angry," he said with a wince. "So angry... But I let you continue without the bondage spell. Instead, I brought you Brita. She was partly to keep you with me, partly so that she would be cared for, and... partly because I couldn't stand to see you in pain, once my anger had cooled."

I could only stare at him.

"But then I realized that you truly cared for her, and that she made you happy. That made me happy. And then you came to me that night..."

I listened in silence, my hands trembling in my lap. I folded them and bowed my head, unable to speak, barely able to think through the haze of confusion and embarrassment.

"You slipped into the room like a shadow in the night, weak with hunger and weary from your inner wounds. You sought me out, when I was in desperate need of solace." His words grew faint, as if he were reliving a pleasant memory, and I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't look up. "You stole to the couch in your bare feet, and sat beside me unafraid. I could feel you by my side, a steady presence, curious and watchful. Close enough to touch. And then you read the poem to me by candlelight, and fell asleep as the storm passed. Leaning on my shoulder, you seemed so soft, so fragile... so unlike the heartless killer I had at first hoped to find in you. And that was when I realized..." Loki hesitated, as if he were waiting for me to look down at him. I obliged, and was immediately trapped in his passionate gaze. "That my protective feelings toward you were not merely in defense of my best ally. That it was... love."

He said the words, and everything snapped into place. Brita, the diamond earrings, all the expensive clothes, the lifting of my punishments, the ending of my dreams, the Stonehenge holiday. The fancy dinners.

I didn't know whether to be horrified or touched. All this time… All the pain and suffering and death only to discover that he loved me. It didn't make any sense. Loki was watching me breathlessly, waiting for a reply of some kind or another. I didn't want to respond. I _couldn't_ respond. This was too real, too sincere, too much aflame with passion to be a lie.

It was the truth.

The plain and awful truth.

Loki Laufeyson, the monster, the demigod, the king of lies – _the bane of mortal men –_ was in love with me...

How could this have happened? Was it the poems by candlelight and romantic dinners? Dancing in the snow at Stonehenge? The fact that I had patched up his wounds? All of the above? What had I done to earn such violent affection from his cold, black heart?

My world was turning upside-down yet again – and this time in a way that I had never imagined. Not even in my darkest, most bizarre nightmares.

I stared down at him, shocked, bewildered, and truly, deeply frightened.

"I have nothing to offer you, dear Natasha," he whispered. "Everything I gave you in the past was a lie – stolen from Midgard. I possess no kingdom, no riches... only the broken remains of my plans and a life of war. I wish to conquer these people with you at my side... But, Natasha, I would give that all up... I would relinquish my conquest, my revenge, and even my immortality... if I could only hear it but once from your lips that my affections have not been in vain. If you would only give me one more chance... to prove my love for you. Whatever you want from me, I will freely give. Anything, Natasha," Loki rasped, his tone sinking lower. "Name it, and I swear it shall be yours."

Gulping for air, I shook my head. This was all happening too fast. "Time," I managed. "I need... time... you can't just... I can't..." My defenses were quickly crumbling. I was breaking down. I couldn't take it anymore. His lies, his truths, his deception – and now his sudden revelation. It was all too much to process. The simple fact was that I couldn't stomach the idea of being loved in that way by Loki. Especially not after Barton...

And now he was lying before me on the stained carpet, covered in gore from head to toe, unable to so much as lift a finger. The heretofore master of my fate was completely and utterly in my power. I could kill him, right now, right there on the floor. Slit his throat and be done with it. But then I would be stranded in the middle of Japan, with a price on my head and nowhere to run. The only logical thing to do was place myself at his mercy if I wanted to survive. Somehow I knew that he would not force his affections on me... but what would he do if I rejected him now? Now, after all that we had been through together? He was still insane, still unpredictable. I couldn't trust him. I could never trust him.

I choked, covering my face with my hands and sobbing. It was not the first time I had wept in his presence, but it was by far the most humiliating. I couldn't even look at him. I felt trapped, lost, and alone.

I don't know how long I sat there in my ruined evening gown, trembling in anguish. The light streaming in through the windows waned, but Loki never once moved from his place on the floor. He was silent. An icy chill pervaded the air, creeping all through the room and numbing my skin. The atmosphere was even colder inside than it had been out in the snow, but by some trick of emotion or the human body, it had ceased to bother me.

My tears slowly froze on my cheeks, and when I finally opened my aching eyes, the vision before me stole what breath I had left.

The walls and floor were coated in a thin, cracking sheet of ice, as if the whole room had been frozen in time. Splotches of Loki's blood had crystallized beneath a layer of frost, and he himself was covered in shadow. His eyes were open, staring blindly up at the ceiling as a blue tinge slowly faded from his skin. He sighed once, quietly, his breath not even misting in the frosty air.

And something stirred within me.

He seemed broken.

Defeated.

Dead.

Not even a trace of emotion remained on his face or in his hollow eyes.

My sobs had melted into silent tears, and I watched him for a long while. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. The last of the daylight quietly vanished, and the pale blue glow of the moon crept between the bamboo curtains to take its place.

Loki loved me... Could I love him back? Yes, I had felt compassion for him occasionally, as well as moments of admiration. But I had never felt comfortable or at peace with him. With Loki, there was always an unpredictable element. He was not a stable person. But then again, neither was I.

Did I even _want_ to love him? What would happen if I told him yes? How would he react if I told him no? Would it be a death sentence?

Loki took a deep breath. "My body is falling prey to sleep. Will you tell me yea or nay, Natasha, before I do?

I blinked and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know," I said. "I guess you'll have to wait."

"I will wait as long as you need," he sighed. Moments later, his breathing deepened and settled. The pain in his features faded to tranquility. Overwhelmed by confusion, I got up and fled the room, unable to watch his peaceful face anymore.

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**


	30. Justify the Why

"_Listen to me: the most powerful darkness you will ever find in this world is inside yourself. But you can overcome it. I believe in you, Loki." Sigyn's words echoed through the dark and musty chambers of Odin's dungeons. Deep in the heart of the palace, buried under a labyrinth of tunnels, they had locked me away like a common prisoner. Yet every night, at the hour of the moon's rising, she came... _

_And with her came a hint of sunshine, a hint of solace. _

_Sigyn wrapped her arms around my neck, holding me so tightly that I could feel her steady breathing. I slid a hand over her abdomen, feeling the slight curve between her hips._

_Our son. _

_A fulfillment of vows and a talisman of our mutual love and trust—but more than that. He was a part of us. Something special, something sacred... _

"_Sigyn." I sighed, nuzzling her thick golden hair. Fear sliced through my heart like a knife. "Sigyn, what am I going to do?"_

"_We will show them. Together, we will show them." Sigyn sighed against my shoulder. "No one can prove that you killed the guards. What reason would you have to break into Odin's chambers?"_

"_None," I replied, feeling my heart stumble. My voice quaked with restrained rage. "But never before has a son of Odin stood trial for murder. Never... should such an abomination... be permitted!" _

_Sigyn pulled away, her innocent face gazing up at mine. She was dark-skinned, tanned and beautiful. Her small hands seemed so exotic and fair against my pale fingers. "I will speak with him."_

_I took a breath. Even that small sound echoed loudly in the dank, dismal cell. "With my father?"_

"_Our father," Sigyn gently corrected me. "When you took me to wife, I became his daughter, as surely you are his son."_

"_Yes..." I smiled faintly. "And as surely as this little one is our son." _

"_Why are you so certain that he is a boy?" Sigyn pressed her palms against my chest and managed a playful frown. "Why not a girl?"_

"_A girl could not carry on my father's name." I regretted the words as soon as I had spoken them. Sigyn wanted a daughter. I knew she did... Yet somehow I _needed _a son, almost as desperately as I _needed _to clear my name._

_The hurt that flashed across Sigyn's face wounded me more deeply than a thousand bloody scourges. "Is that not your elder brother's task? You are not in line for the throne. Thor will produce an heir for our father. Could you not love a daughter as much as a son?"_

_I swallowed, pulling a golden strand of hair away from her lovely eyes. "Of course I could, Sigyn. And—I am sorry."_

_I was rewarded with a small smile. "Good. Then I will tell you a secret: this child..." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing my ear. "...is a son."_

_Warmth kindled deep in my chest, and I stared at her, aghast. "How do you know?"_

_Sigyn smiled, winking at me. "Because I do." _

_She rose, pulling me to my feet. The chains that bound me rattled with the movement, and her smile grew forced. "My hour is almost up. I must leave, but I will return tomorrow." She smoothed her palm along my cheek. "You will be free again, dearest Loki. And your honor will be restored. I promise."_

_Sigyn leaned up for a kiss, and I obliged, enjoying the feeling of her lips against mine. It was a sweet, pure, passionate kiss, filled with the love and loyalty that only a faithful marriage could bestow._

_The bolts on the door clanked and squealed, and we pulled away in time to see one of the palace guards step into the cell. I glowered at him, malice simmering in my soul. It was more than simple annoyance at the intrusion. It was the ashes of a broken trust—for nothing burns so fiercely as the fires of betrayal._

_Without another word, Sigyn drew her hood over her face, bowed her head, and left. Left me standing there, alone in the prison, my manacled hands still reaching in vain toward the door._

_The bolts slid into place, and after a moment, her delicate footsteps faded away... but her last words remained as a flicker of hope: "I promise."_

* * *

I opened my eyes and stretched, but stopped in the middle of a yawn. I had been dreaming again... I knew I had. My fingers instinctively slipped under my belt, and I felt the cool stone talisman, still touching my skin. Everything from my vision became clear in a flash—the dungeon, Sigyn's smile, Loki's child... _Loki's child?_

With a gasp, I sat up straight in bed. Last night! Loki's confession! Or had I dreamed that as well? One glance at the bamboo curtains and oriental wallpaper convinced me that at least some of it had been real. The rest of it might as well be, too.

"Oh, no, no," I groaned out loud, glancing at the door. I felt like I was experiencing a terrible hangover... The blankets were still neatly folded, and I was lying on top of them, so I must have just collapsed on the bed. I had no idea how I had gotten there, or even what part of the resort I was in. Loki could be right outside my door, or three flights down and around the corner. "Oh, help!"

With a groan, I pressed my fingers to my temples and tried to think through the haze of emotion and the lingering effects of the dream. I couldn't avoid him forever. That would be impossible. But maybe I could avoid him for at least twenty-four hours, and then go to bed again.

Grumbling profanities, I got to my feet, kicking off the flats I had forgotten to remove before bed, and tugged wearily at my ruined dress. Hopefully I could find something to wear in this building that didn't make me look like a Geisha girl.

Fifteen minutes later, after rifling through both closets and the bathroom, I had found a pair of skinny jeans that were uncomfortably tight, and a black shirt that hung rather loosely around my shoulders—but no shoes, socks, or sweaters.

"Fine," I grumbled to myself. If a shirt, jeans, and bare feet was the best I could do, so be it.

In half an hour I was standing in front of the full-length mirror. I looked rather nice, I thought, in spite of my horrible night. I had covered up the rings under my eyes with a little makeup, and brushed out my hair. But then again—did I want to look nice? The last thing I needed was to be noticed by the resident demigod.

I frowned at my reflection, waiting for Loki to appear behind me as he had so many times before. Nothing happened. The only face that glared at me from the mirror's depths was my own. My eyes were alight with fear and uncertainty, but the rest of my face sagged wearily. I sighed, brushing a stray eyelash from my cheek.

"The most powerful darkness you will ever find in this world is inside yourself," I whispered brokenly, echoing Sigyn's gentle words from my dream. Perhaps I should take them to heart.

My thoughts drifted to the rest of their conversation...

_Loki had a son._ That fact alone boggled my mind. Was it possible? And what had happened to him? Was he still alive? That notion frightened me almost as much as his impromptu proposal.

I was certain that Loki hadn't intended to, as it were, spill his guts to a mortal. In fact, he even confessed that he hadn't intended to fall in love. It had just happened.

Somehow.

I had considered myself unlovable for so long... Of course the only person who could find me attractive was someone as dark and shrouded in secrecy as myself.

That wasn't comforting.

Holding my breath, I crept downstairs, shivering as the cool, polished wood floor touched the soles of my bare feet. I should have stolen a blanket from the bed...

When I reached the lobby downstairs, I recognized the tall, dark figure of Loki reclining in one of the desk chairs. He seemed somewhat recovered from his ordeal of the previous night. The glow of a computer screen lit up his pale face, but he flicked off the monitor as soon as he noticed me standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Delight flashed across his face, briefly, followed by a more subtle look I had come to recognize as his own quiet way of expressing affection.

"Good morning, Natasha."

I couldn't find it in me to offer him a reply. So I just stood there, feeling silly and a little frightened.

He waited, but when no response seemed forthcoming, added, "I trust you slept well?"

Swallowing, I shrugged one shoulder and crossed the room to one of the couches. I flopped into it ungracefully, running my hands through my hair. For some reason, I wanted to tell him everything: the dream, the medallion, even my present state of fear.

When I met his dark green eyes again, he was still watching me from behind the desk, as staid and quiet as before.

I couldn't stop the words that came out of my mouth: "I have something to tell you."

A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows, and Loki leaned forward just a bit, his gaze sharpening. He seemed... very inaccessible and a little hostile, sitting behind the desk.

I waited a moment, hoping for some sign that he would be—well, _accepting _of the fact that I had A) stolen from him, B) lied to him about it by keeping it a secret, and C) dreamed about his past with Sigyn. Twice.

Those were all rather weighty subjects to broach, but I had the strange feeling that there was, to put it tritely, no time like the present.

I sat up on the couch and folded my hands in my lap. I figured the medallion was a good place to start, and began slowly, thinking through each word and phrase before I said it. "Back in London... the day I delivered that letter..." I hesitated. How to put this? Fidgeting, I tried again: "After you left, I found Brita playing with something on the floor. I took it from her."

Reaching under my belt, I withdrew the smooth, black object, keeping it safely hidden in my closed fist. His eyes immediately flashed to my hand, and I reflexively squeezed my fingers even tighter around the medallion. It warmed slightly in my sweaty grasp, making my palm tingle.

"I'm sorry—Loki," I managed, getting stiffly to my feet and crossing the room to stand before him. "Here—here it is."

But my fingers did not want to open.

After a moment, and some effort of will, they uncurled themselves, revealing the dark medallion. It lay in my hand with a curious weight, and I slowly tilted my wrist to allow Loki to see what I was holding.

His expression didn't change a whit, but his gaze suddenly grew sharp, almost hostile. He remained frozen in the chair, his fingers curling around the edge of the desk.

Then I saw his lips move, forming a silent name: _Sigyn_.

He was silent for so long that I was just about to say something in my defense. But before I could move an inch, he suddenly jerked up from the chair, his elbow slamming into the computer monitor as he rose. It went crashing to the floor and I jumped back, startled.

His face was as white as the frost on the window, and for a moment I wondered if he was going to hit me...

Instead, he clenched his fists and whirled away, stalking across the room toward the window, where he stood panting like a wild animal.

I froze, clutching the medallion tightly in both hands. "Lo-Loki?" I stammered, scared witless. I should have held my tongue. But I didn't. "Loki, I'm sorry—here—you can—you can take it back!"

I held out the medallion, but in the same instant Loki turned around, his corpse-like visage seething with rage.

"That token," he hissed, trembling, "was never yours to take!" His eyes were dark and angry, black as a moonless night.

I dropped the medallion as if its touch had burned my fingers. It hit the floor with a loud _thunk_ and rolled across the tiles until it was resting a few inches away from the toe of Loki's boot.

He held my gaze for another full breath, and I crumbled beneath the influence of his horrible black eyes.

I turned and ran, taking the stairs three at a time. And I didn't stop until I was back in the bedroom, with the door slammed and locked behind me.

_Never_.

I could never give myself to Loki.

That much, at least, I was now sure of...

Whatever the intensity of the immortal's love, his capricious nature and quick temper made the idea of any permanent union between us daunting at best, and suicidal at worst.

I stood in the middle of the room and looked down at my hands. They were shaking and pasty-white. A glance in the mirror confirmed that I looked as horrible as I felt.

Whispering curses, I sat down on the edge of the bed, my back to the door, and buried my face in my hands. Did he know about my dreams of Sigyn? Was that what had upset him? Or was he simply angry that I had not returned it to him immediately?

I sat bolt upright as someone knocked on my door.

Holding my breath, I waited.

If it was Loki—and it could only be Loki—I wasn't going to open it. In fact, the idea of pushing the bed and several chairs in front of the door flashed across my mind. Of course that wouldn't stop Loki if he wanted to come in.

So I did nothing.

"Natasha."

I swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, but didn't turn around. His voice was muffled from behind the door. Good. Let it stay that way.

"Natasha, please let me in."

He sounded calm. Almost normal. As if he had just dropped by to chat about the weather.

I didn't move.

Five minutes passed in utter silence, and I decided that he must have left. Closing my eyes briefly, I rubbed my face with my clenched fists, and then got up from the bed, turning toward the door.

"Gaah!" With an undignified squeak, I shuffled backwards.

Loki was standing in the middle of the bedroom, his hands clasped behind his back and a look of complete apathy on his face. His eyes had returned to their usual cool palette of greens and blues, and his lips were pressed together firmly, as if he were biting his tongue.

I recovered my wits a moment later, straightening the front of my shirt and giving him a disapproving glare.

"You know I hate it when you do that," I said stiffly, trying to forget that I was talking to a madman.

Loki shrugged. "I knocked."

"I heard."

He took a step forward.

I took a step back.

With a faint frown, Loki lowered his gaze, relieving me of his scrutiny. "It seems," he began, sounding tired and a little chagrined, "that I have erred."

I wanted to confirm this statement with a few choice words of my own, but this time I stayed silent. If he had something to say that would excuse his actions, I was willing to listen.

"This medallion..." He brought one hand forward and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. It gleamed like black ice in the light from the window. "It was a gift of mine, to—a good friend. This friend—" He wavered, glancing down at the medallion. "This friend died many years ago. I have kept it ever since, in memory of—of my friend."

I watched him with growing curiosity. He never once mentioned the name from my dream, and called her his friend when I knew they had been lovers.

Loki held out his hand, offering me the medallion. "It is of no consequence now. I would like you to have this... You may keep it."

I took a breath, weighing his words. It was plain that he was through with his explanation. Eventually, I reached out to take it from his hand, careful to touch only the medallion.

"If you insist," I said quietly, deciding it was best not to mention the dreams. I had hoped he would leave me, having fulfilled his errand, but my hopes were crushed when he moved to sit down in the chair across the room. He bowed his head and folded his hands, eyes hidden from view. The tall demigod looked unusually lost, and a little vulnerable, in that position.

"I will try," he whispered. "I am trying. I did not mean to frighten you, Natasha. I never wanted that."

I couldn't keep myself from saying, "Not even when you chained me to a wall and threatened to take Barton's life? That was supposed to be—what? Reassuring?"

I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my mouth.

Loki looked up quickly, his brow furrowed. "...Natasha."

The silence that followed was cold. I was the first to break it several minutes later: "It doesn't matter."

But it did.

"I'll make it up to you..." Loki's voice had been reduced to the faintest of whispers. "I promise."

"I have no reason to trust you," I replied, just as quietly.

"You do. Have I not listed the reasons? Did you not listen to my plea?" He looked down again, hunching his shoulders.

We sat quietly for a minute again. I didn't know how to answer him. I _did_ know what he had said, but... How many chances did I have to give him to prove himself? And the question remained: did I honestly want to return his feelings?

"Will telling you my plans regain at least a fraction of your trust?"

"...It might. You have plans already?"

"This plan was designed in advance for just this situation—I just hoped I did not need to use it." Loki got to his feet, moving slowly and stiffly. "It is preferable to defeat ones enemy rather than make allies of them."

"Make allies? Oh— You—" I stared at him in horror. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It is our only option."

Weak-kneed at the thought, I sank down onto the bed. "And you want to do this how? Right after we attacked him?"

"We can not be sure if he will respond to our invitation, but my observations of Dr. Banner have revealed that he is both curious and peace-loving. I am counting on that, along with your natural feminine charm, to secure an alliance."

"It's madness."

"As I said, it is our only option."

Standing up again, I began to pace back and forth. "Couldn't we just leave him be? Why do we have to involve Dr. Banner in all of this?"

"Because he is an Avenger, and I cannot achieve my ultimate goal when the Avengers stand in my way."

I winced. "You still want to take over the world?"

"As peacefully as possible, I assure you."

"Why?"

"Pardon me?"

"Why do you want to take over the world?"

He looked at me for a long time. "We have had this conversation before," Loki said slowly. "But I shall repeat myself. You are one of the few humans on this planet that understand – and respect – true power. The others must be taught. Midgard holds great promise as a nation, but they are divided and weak. Under my rule, Midgard would become even greater than Asgard."

"And I suppose you're doing this purely out of the goodness of your heart then," I sighed wearily.

Loki hesitated. "No. Jealousy is, I suppose, the driving reason. But do the end results justify the means? Or the why, in our case?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know."

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. "Do you approve of my plan to create an alliance with the Hulk?"

"Does it really matter if I approve or not?"

"It does, Natasha," he said softly. "You are my... inspiration. And my guide in the ways of mortals."

Frowning, I stood up and turned away from him. I didn't want to listen to that kind of talk. "It sounds no more insane than any of your other plans," I said finally.

"Very well."

I heard Loki stand up and make his way to the door. "Wait," I called. "What about Brita?"

"Oh yes, the child." He laughed softly—a sound that I had only heard once or twice before. Even now, after all that had transpired between us, it still sent a faint thrill up my spine. "Shall we go fetch her from the babysitter?"

"Please." Once more, I took the demigod's arm and he whisked us around the world. Our passage was notably long, however, and I felt a faint squeezing in my chest as he drew from my energy reserve. Loki was apparently not fully recovered from his second disastrous clash with the Hulk.

As the forest house began to appear out of the darkness, the only thing I heard was screams – not Brita's. The spell released us, and I lunged forward, ready to strike out at the intruders. But Loki was faster. Before I could blink, he was in full battle armor, and his spear rested on the chest of an older gentleman. His wife stood several paces away, still screaming. Brita sat in her arms, watching us calmly.

"Na came back for me!" she declared triumphantly. "Told you."

The woman kept screaming.

"What are you doing here?" Loki demanded in a thunderous voice.

The man quailed, but obviously didn't dare to move. "Th-this is our home!" he stammered.

"Get out," Loki growled. "Now. And tell no one what you have seen."

"But where—"

"I do not care. Do not suppose that I cannot find you again, should you reveal that you have seen us. I found your quiet, secluded shack, did I not?" Loki pressed the spear forward, no doubt bruising the man's chest.

"Y-yes," he said, trembling all over now.

"SILENCE!" Loki roared, turning on the woman, who was still screaming. "Stop sniveling! I am not here to kill you, but do not press your luck."

She quieted instantly, as if gagged.

"Not nice!" Brita scolded, shaking a finger at him.

"Loki," I said warningly.

He snarled, "OUT!" and, intelligently, they ran. But a moment later, I saw a problem.

"Leave Brita!" I called, chasing after them. "Leave her!"

"Not with you lunatics!" the man cried desperately as they vanished out the door.

"Brita!" I tried to run for her, but Loki grabbed the back of my shirt. Even with the superhuman strength and Asgardian agility he had given me so long ago, his grip was still too strong and too sudden.

"No," he ordered. "If you step outside, you will fall into a deep abyss. I cast a spell on you to make sure you would stay."

I stared at him in horror. "Take it away!"

"Regrettably, that would take several hours. It is a complicated spell, you see—"

"We have to get Brita!"

"I cast the spell on all who came here, except for Brita," he said. "She is likely safe."

"Did you cast it on the babysitter?"

"Yes."

"Where is she?"

"I assume the owners of this house sent her..." he trailed off.

I cursed. "So she's dead. You killed her." Then it hit me. "What if I had stepped outside? I thought you loved me?"

Loki's already pale face whitened further. "You would not have been able to open the door," he said. "Nor could you have walked through it. The abyss was merely a safeguard... a plan b, if you will."

"For what? Getting rid of me if you decided I was too troublesome?" I gestured wildly at the door. "You're a maniac!"

"I intended to show it to you only as a threat," he whispered, avoiding my eyes.

"That doesn't matter! You could have pushed me out in a fit of rage! You don't care about me – you never have," I snapped.

Chest heaving with fear for Brita and anger at Loki's lack of judgment, I glared at his cowed frame. He didn't argue or try to defend himself, yet somehow the hush was more telling than words. Another long silence fell between us.

_Nothing burns so fiercely as the fires of betrayal._

Where had I heard those words before?

"...Come back with me, Natasha. I will retrieve Brita for you." Loki finally looked up at me, his green eyes wide and pleading. "I never meant you real harm; please believe me."

He was desperate to please, desperate to regain my good favor. I could see that desperation in every aspect of his face, every crease around his eyes, every line across his forehead. And I realized that—for the first time since Barton's death—I had power over Loki.

Not physical power, but something still more potent: _I had his very heart in my hands. _

His horrible, black, twisted heart.

The heart of a monster.

A wave of giddy delight swept through me, and I almost smiled. He had ruined my chances of ever wiping out the red in my ledger, ever righting my wrongs. He had forced me to kill his adversaries and bow to his wishes. I had played his game not by choice, but under the coercive threats of a malevolent demigod—and now I had been given the opportunity to _hurt_ him. Truly. Deeply. With the same poisoned dagger of betrayal he had so often held to my throat…

Gone were the moments of tenderness, his thoughtful gestures, our dance through Stonehenge, and the sacrifices he had made on my behalf. All I could think about was the brutality and monstrosity I had both witnessed and experienced over the last three months.

And here, at last, was my avengement.

"No, Loki," I whispered, feeling the bittersweet solace of revenge as the pain tore through his eyes. "No…"

* * *

**Co-written with Alassiel**

**Insanity- Thank you so much for all your support guys! We're really sorry about the slow updates... Unfortunately, we're going to have to take a break for while now. I'm working at a camp until the end of July, so please don't expect a chapter until after that. We're really sorry. I'd also like to apologize for our angsty characters XD  
**


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